Work

Is it only the legacy of Protestants,
my natural enemies. Predestined, dance:

Measure
a foot against a well-planed floor

adjust a well-starched ruff.
Sell something. Never sell enough.

On the shelf, & out
of circulation, mouth sewn shut

with sleep-drugged stitches,
glued with openmouthed big kisses,

I double-eagled, went to fat,
wallowed in snow, in cake, in fate.

We did it sloppy, you and I,
fell asleep suckling. O lovely sty

O lovely list, though, lovely margin,
page more virgin than the Virgin:

lean in, it whispers. That was work too,
that messing. For someone else to do.