[Marqui Sommi, Tamara de Lempicka, 1925]
The Poet Reads at the Academy
The chandelier smirks superior,
setting jewels below atwitter.
Modern decorated craniums range
in rows of orange plastic,
the room flora-fenced in scintillant gilt.
Soon, sweet Schubert sap rolls from the piano
as a canting boy, heart held, tuxedo-flapped,
flourishes, exits, coats with rose petals the Poet’s path.
His chest enters first–high, taut, erect.
He begins to read. He drip what is left
of nectar, his old blossom.
Heads nod and tilt like orange-backed
bees drinking. Drinking, they are very soon drunk
by his crafted voice of ecstasy,
And at his climactic crux, tremulous
can’t sit locked a moment more
in orange plastic. Thy rise en masse
and crusth the sayer, straining to touch
his hand, seeking his eyes, each naked
skull desiring the “yes it was you
for whom I dripped”
Rolling in a shimmer of common goo.
Borne in a swirl beneath the chuckling chandelier.
Soon, all dip little tongues to wine.
Stately, steadied, the Poet upholds
the plastic cup before his heart
as a Roman patriarch might his drapery.
The glistening cranial tongues lick faster.