the Witch sat up whole nights bidding for a shag-o-matic on eBay
fidgeting warmth into the duffel upholstery of the chaise longue
its spool heel legs creaked
left note-shaped scars in the boarding
    I dreamt
   stop motion scenes
  another sword and sandal do
 all excesses and OTK
you were there [remember?]
we did a crate of pomegranates
feared the homebound fuzz
the damned seed count
    much later
  was it still the dream?
Hera and Echo
came round for baked potatoes
and a glass of Tagliatella
    she did her E–I–E–I–O thing
when day eventually did come to
it was a click through of misty View-Masters
    that hand held
vaguely binocular Bakelite grip
at the scruff of the neck
somewhere between dogged and wolfed
the same four notes keep cropping up:
Bowie     Miles     the Gong on the Hook and Ladder

sharp ascending chromatics step half out
    lob chords borrowed
wherever you look street lighting is out of synch
low rate bulbs barely bruise with amber
the town's hind quarters
unable to sustain dawn's infliction
    the sensory branding
        of night
into day

Milan          January 2008