thats me running behind a concrete column
trying to recreate the crop of Godelieve’s goon from the waist down.
he creeped beneath the stem of a vaulted arch
we see him in the foreground
where he strangles her with his accomplice in stripes
produced on a train between Dortmund and Köln, my Danish friend and I sat coloring in these shapes
with black and yellow markers. my legs soon rejoiced in ogees and ogives, a rose trace upon frog limbs.
the fool gets off work but doesn’t remove her tights
nor her ears (she is obsessed with her job, her social position)
she lives a trick even off duty — a natural
on the eve of my harvest dance I arrived too late for the corn had been plowed, the field flattened.
I had already seen the barley go weeks earlier, and I knew in the weeks ahead the corn would
be treated with preservatives, cooked sugared and vacuum sealed to be sold through the winter.
but ooo! the freedom to flail around this spikey metal sculpture!
the original plan to stick it in the soil and crown with corn tassel,
bind with wire and bells — a corset corsage — nixed
my sceptre went hoodless that night.
bearing the uncomfortable faces of comedy
the fool’s baubles are her petrified souvenirs
and tragically some of her only friends, those she has crafted herself -
peeled punctured salted
drained dry and spongy
she pierced their eyes with clove
slid them onto glittered skewers
when they are not dancing
they rest patiently in a basket of rice
I collect thistle and dandelion weed,
wild arugula that grows from between cracks in cement tiles
I saw the sherbert morning rise
felt copper sludge and orange peel -
a liberty had overcome me!
the fools judgement is clouded after an excess of apfelwine and cigarettes
it had just gotten off work, except it hadn’t worked a day in months
the fool loves to get fucked up, doing only whatever it wants