visitants

Mr. Courbet offers a sublime
chair, the infancy
of nature is still
a resource, the shadows

can't be arsed; Elio
will run interference,
he's a sport. The angels
say medicine is a luxury,

God is a couch.
I have sprawled on that couch.
Have you begun to go over
yet, they want to know,

Mr. de Chirico is worried
about all this spiritual furniture,
this bric-a-brac of which
he composed his paintings.

"He feels you are too attached."
Mr. Courbet hands you an Eskimo bar,
he brushes nature from your
long eyelashes. Elio goes

into the backyard, but smiles
over his shoulder, inviting
you to come see a sunflower
some English asshole has donated.