Being a celebratory middle-egged pair Of legs every which way but straight Shan't I throw around dramatic Flares and overblown evocations Of laying low as widely as possible Using soured petty notes as wartime morphine Filling myself with hollow points and trenches With a rust of masculine guilt wagging enough clay For inelegant womanly imitation, valid though I may be Quite the emergent ballroom monster An interim self monitoring a breakdown of detachment Chroma-loaned from a time-shifted Herbert malcontent; The blue borough eyes I wanted May now extract my sight as toll for my service Sadly frenetic on loan from panicking Minoring touchpoints from a community college-level administrative Therapeutic treatment of gender dysphoria Oiled from the fingertips as evening newsprint Walkers for fucking: Cat, Johnnie, and Scott Identifying now as Mathilde the Thirtieth-Century cocktail chanteuse Stroking your ears and tending to the river of your mind Charon the Bravest Perversion, serving for giving or taking this work