i.
O Thrice Great Hermes! The top
of your silver thigh is showing
beneath your escutcheon
becoming valueless, how sinister soever
the blots and clots upon them
but minions are floating
in your train unto the Chik-Fil-A.
Buddy let me love the assortment
of manifestations of spirit.
Let me buy you a coke.
This checked bit of cloth packs
a turbo secret and
variations on above theme.
ii.
Since when was this Macy’s
converted to The Hall of Invisible Forms
Made Visible By Human Art?
This bathroom has three antechambers
and the sinks don’t turn on.
I’m haunted as hell mate
and I’m exchanging this electric
griddle for another glorious artifice.
Nobody descends in order to buy a blender—
there’s a gnostic component
that demands a sort of material equity.
I’m dying in this heat in this sweater.
I’m across the parking lot in spirit
buying cranberry juice and vegan butter.
A form with a duty in the Macy’s basement
says Mister, how might I
Make You Glad? I want a coupon,
a value, a necktie, and a parhelion.
I want a pretzel burdened with investiture.
And I still want that blender.
The Auntie Anne’s upstairs
serves no grey poupon
(with which our transcontinental
readers may not be acquainted).
iii.
Clark Ashton Smith was not born
for living people to read.
Someone says: shall I read?
No. Not unless you live unto
200 years, 300 years, 500 years,
unto the utmost years.
Friend, you write like two Philip
Lamantias dying of cholera
in a thick canvas bag
battered into rocks
by swift moving water.
Your genius loci was a waste
of a perfectly good
20-sided die.
You and I grow fat
crouching in an attic
inventing new words
about orcs and dorks
and shit. I’m balding, Clark Ashton,
when I’m with you.
To write the phrase
“arcane congress with
buried mummies”
I cannot let slide.
At the beach me and
Clark Ashton Smith wear
striped one-pieces like
Adorno.
We’re ashamed of our torsos.
We compose new archangels
brutal enough to punish us
for our tastes in cravats and
fainting couches.
I have cholera—
he has anti-semitism—
we make a good team.
We’re moving to Providence
to live the fainting dream.
At the beach we dig our
hands into the water
through the shells and
pearls and silver coins and
dredge up a brand-new 12 piece set
of Zwilling J.A. Henckel
fine edge cutlery with stain-
resistant steel and polypropylene
grips with traditional three-rivet
design!
iv.
8” bread knife!
8” chef’s knife
also called the “Cook’s”
knife!
7” hollow edge santoku knife
hollow grooves for
better release!
3” paring knife
for paring!
4.5” steak knives (6)!
Sharpening tool and
hardwood block.
Yum Yum!
The spirit is moving.
We lie back in the desert
we eat them.
######
Christopher Schaeffer is currently earning a PhD at Temple University. His recent work has appeared in The Volta, The Philadelphia Review of Books, A Literation, No Assholes, and elsewhere.