Beware the former athlete of depravity,
sandblasted by time and immoderation,
haggard runner loitering near the cringe
of zithers, outside an ashwhite bar
at the beginning of spring, the opened door
an aromatic welcome of dung and poppies.
Swollen with the price of whorehouse bliss,
the swollen pejoratives of remembered
guests, however artfully choreographed,
however startlingly indicative of outré
taste and catholic courage. Even a cataract
begins to gag on its own thrown-off froth
and yet a drone might quicken pulses,
set ears to twitch with a precise selection
of wild tail, virtuoso technique, strap-on
and mirrors, simmered vanilla and icy
compress. When the mind has jaded,
all dials fall to pieces, no meter can keep
up with the gallop past limits, beyond
boundaries, till the unthinkable has been
thought and planned and paid for, the
vacationing professor’s long-awaited
cure a matter of double or nothing.