Robert Verdon, #155, Still Modern

In this damask winter,

fine lanugo of greed or fear on the hunter’s moon,

illuminating

riffled histories of the irrelevance of literature,

rumpled playschool windows on the world of ruched duvets,

lewd jerkins,

loud shirts,

grim tympani, and

gold bosoms;

and a stately brown cow,

waiting patiently at the end of the paddock

to be chopped up into grain-fed hamburgers.