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from EXHIBIT OF FORKING PATHS

In tablet 12 is a girl in ski boots
wading a lushly gurgling stream.

I am defeated.
In tablet 4, an ex-torture chaber attendant
shucks the shells of shrimps
and crawfish. He is opening
a bar, “The Shuck.” A nosy insect
screams in a tree behind him.

Table 222: Mr. R., digging
a small pit for a vial of barbituates.
The hair on his back is long and fuzzy.

The end of love. A tall sundial.
A genie strangled and left on the curb
like a derelict’s rag.

I am torn. Wasted.
A pummeled plate. A dent.

Table 16 hangs from an ambiguous
ceiling fixture. The coronary form
or a used tea bag smelling of olive juice.
An ear, perhaps a dog’s,
folded over a medium-sized clamshell.
A used bandage also.