Picollus


By the great men & women
& the many others 
whose effusions may placate
colleagues squatting
in the next cubicle. No gods,
no masters, but sincere
belief in mercury retrograde
& wager a hanged 
man's hand: tallow for a candle,
a gambit to seal the contract, 
dread business letter format,
attachments: a photo  
of a drowned bird, a dead man's
W-4 soaked in WD40 to balm
the valve of heaven & this
hell of gruesome boilerplate 
& endless self-assessment, that burble 
is Picollus chortling in his temple
for he has a temple & you
have to find a way out
of this: third time's a harm;
quit meeting like this, someone 
is out for blood & the king
is dead & the queen is dead
& the angel who guards the door
is dead.


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