If that evil dude Loeb
could purport to seek the universal
language, then mark us all ‘learners’.
Theorize. Yes. Of drink, nutrition.
In a lemongrass and pumice ball, smell
the flowers, the earth that might
yet constitute a world.
And, hell, your quaffing action, one
that sends you off to alternatives, to a half–
way house of holies — oh,
just call the stein a goblet,
and be done with staying upright.
Remember Hamlet censuring
the hammy troupe of players
against the dangers rife
in overacting? Where did it get him?
Let this repertory
flourish; tease the silence.
Riccarton Bush is amove.
Birnam Wood, it sneaks up
and grows karamu,
Here: inhale a shiver
from the sediment in the flute.
Noises off? Ha.
selves are fit to kill
us with their chuckles.