I stood before my new house and averred,
“This house is a master-piece.
I will serve dinners in it,
and draw on the wall pictoral
selections of all past feasters,
with wine dabbed on their sleeves
and dotting the corners of their eyes.
Catamites, eremites, all drawn in—ephebes,
doe-eyes, too, these culpable innocents
know not what they do—
I’ll snare them, bury them,
snare by the ankles,
bury them deep in my house.”
-2004
