A wonderfully naked figure
is positioned to look crooked on the floor
but the snake is not symbolic by the bowl.
That bowl is made of gold.
Nature is deadly in Copenhagen
this autumn in which I am so thirsty.
When I stare at the body so hurt
on the floor I begin to hurt the way
inflation hurts. Have you heard that
I do poetry that way, with my thighs
all fucked up. The fur I wear is hard.
I wear it in a totally different way
than it was meant to be worn,
it was meant to be worn during a fever.
I wear it to a party and dream down to ten.
I received it in Korea
because I dreamt about god as rabies
and the milk came from Los Angeles.

Originally published in White Wall Review 40 (2016)