and a chicory tan sash. It gave my visitors pleasure
and enlivened their responsiveness to my cunning ways.
I used a live electric microphone to address them, always.
I put egg crate baffles on the ceiling to direct the sound
of my voice coming from the public address system.
I had them march in a circle, all three of them.
When we got tired, we slept on a huge canvas cloth
that smelled of mildew and lavender.
Every morning there was coffee and a forecast
of grief, slovenly put, but apropos of nothing.