Madam poet reads her singable pieces uninflectedly,
a dissonance that plays to mock solemnity (“sing me, song”)
and tuneful reproach (“play dough of god”).
Combing through my notes there’s a world of disputes,

Churlish puffins and other problems to shatter the continuity

Of my exploding goofiness over lunch; of course I mean exploring.

There is no circling the rink.
No complaints or sworn declarations,
Nothing frilly and glib,
No closure nor irresolution —
There’s not a single cudgel you can wield;
We’ve lost your name card and your name.