I think I'm like an ink spot on the rug of life
says the fellow
turn me any which way over
I'm there


I would myself buy it
the drachma of dramatics
eating figs and honey
on a rented bit of plush
with a varietal wine for your pleasure
in the cool night air of the port
under the inevitable stars
you can't see till the house goes dark

and there's the god with gaping mouth
dictating rubrics to the crowd
and the vessels of wrath
and dancing supers back and forth
and the bloody fool who thinks after the froth has dried
the final drunkenness sets in

park it for the time if you please
and sit on it
while the naked prizewinner
tears and toils it out
for the flag of the nation
this very particularity of the round
polished to a very fine patina
removing reversal
all epiphany


Christopher Mulrooney is a well known poet. His poems and translations have been published in in Poetry and Audience, The Burning Bush, Frank, Poetry Salzburg Review, The Brown Critique, Quarterly Literary Review of Singapore, Renditions, Cordite, Makata, Qwerty, The Pacific Review, Euphony, etc. He is the author of Notebook and Sheaves









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