A bleak week for poets

Ear up, or
Get off

—in fond memory of Stephen Rodefer (1940-2015)

Temptations in sex, given

up approximate location. Just to stand
under the place holder your language cast
across conclusion. No one’s right, everyone
believes, more simply—one stop short

less becoming. And to sidle up
with a hoarse voice hushes

the animal. Whenever we, too,
put on those lovely gloves, over

and out these findings
a fingerling, adrift

in consensual draft, Lincoln
continental.

Taken with particular errant
accent, a likeness.
Moreover,

this may never, for once
taste anything at all: like chicken. Fear not, now
and again I say, ‘rejoice, rejoice.’ In Indiana
Diana was a huntress. Note, how

nude the word ‘tampon’ in pieces finds itself, broken
beneath the shelf of the previous stanza.
Chandelier, swing low
the party zealots

speak bakery French—
chief loaf chef bus

so sheer a kiss that parting scores, alive
nor any longer a matter of desire. Let’s re-do
in order to detour the book the outcome
rent its plural detriment. As is today

alacrity our country nonsense. He’s dead
to me, to you, a mere

dance, shadow step
away,

reflect, move over.