For Brian Ang
What will impress the death cult? The beautiful, vacant
death cult? What will impress the mirror-writing lump,
water’s canto, her cinema,
commerce’s atomic center?
What will impress the cult of death?
The cult of holes, of clothes. The cult of sharp elbows.
The empress of the lake is here, all 90 degree angles.
Hello empress of the lake. She answers through her teeth of zeros, in geese.
To move five stones to the right is to enforce the
odds. To pepper-spray a toddler in the springtime, Printemps Paris.