Delicious. I love you. Goodbye.

Then to get down in the dark on hands and knees

and hear the most professional of human tones

like the overvoice in a theme park that says

The ride is over. Please step down carefully.

And it ain’t the least bit diacritical. Don’t mind that line

of dried, wilting bouquets behind him. Open

his mouth, dead birds fall out. Saddest of all

macabre excuses. All artists, it’s true, set

their sights on you, ruthless Picasso. Broken

hearts in the name of art.