Blood Orbits. Ger Killeen

yellows, greens and blues in tendrils looping

      through golden spaces, a large, round

      mahogony table in the center of the room,

      with a blue cloth on it, with a thin layer

      of books in smart bindings, a tea-colored leather

      sofa against one wall, against another

      a row of four black walnut chairs

      with horsehair seats, hung on a third,

      between the street windows, a gilt mirror,

      and, beneath, a black marble-topped

      console table; also, a triangular stand

      for china shepherdesses and farm animals;

      also, on the walls, various prints

      including peasants praying the Angelus,

      and a still-life with lemons; a piano

      strewn with sheet music for Field’s Nocturnes,

      a very tall clock from which on

      the quarter hour issues an arresting

      set of chimes and a flat figure

      of Orpheus chasing a flat figure of Eurydice,

      an enormous chandelier,

      heavy ochre curtains and an open

      fireplace with a white marble mantlepiece

      against the chill.

      A sumptuous

      light mitres each and every

      object nouns have shrivelled to a shadow of.

      You, however, hypocrite voyeur,

      are a spectral inconvenience in

      the domestic schedule, (one alarming sickle

      of the open-ended parentheses

      between dinner-time and bedtime. The entire

      ménage is worried for the safety

      of the children because every sentence

      addressed to you you repeat back

      several times with very different

      intonations, and your almost grimy

      calling-card is hand-written with

      milk me sugar in greenish ink.

      That could spell the end

      of your future presence

      in the better houses.

      4. Nivôse

      To one a smoldering

      coal, to the other

      a mouthful of ash,

      each and every one its own

      hunger: pressure

      enough to hold

      the swell and hum,

      the clatter tumbling over

      the royal roads a night

      or part of a night.

      Otherwise

      only rehearsed sayings

      bunched up under

      the teeth, fitful

      squeaking as of

      pipistrelles under eaves

      steeply pitched against

      the weight of articulacy

      that is the sad

      measure of days.

      To one

      a few true things,

      to the other

      a few more.

      Otherwise

      tragedy

      and farce

      and tragedy.

      Without end.

      5. Pluviôse

      Something she thinks appeals

      to the finest structures