The eunuch’s spite
What hum has hummed and barbed a heart
that marched in place in stout disgrace
egregiously its tune.
What fumbling march had taught this heart
that crept its hand to the long-arch band
of ankle and cleft, then retired.
Soon was the answer the bald man said,
soon a crake will shimmy well away
its manifold clothes, hose off its skin,
perch on the artery, and lay its egg.
One single egg. Thin-shelled in sin, then again.