Rebecca Black

Chelsea Episode

My daimon accompanied me

to the Gallery Contempo—

tug & trireme, exotic flora


of blown glass displayed.   

Slump and fuse, slump

and fuse—the best technique


for blowing sand into art.

If pressed, Mephista,

I’ll tell you—as taxis


progressed, as prisms cross-

pollenated—I was exquisite

liquid then a hard crush


under your heel. You

were plotting a heist

until a crystal thorn


nicked your thumb.

The dear sculptor G.

asked for our review


with the word “chrysanthemum”

struck out. Like a polygraph,

he said, the pencil veered


on an invisible grid. Axis of Conflict.

Axis of Crisis. Did you hear

the final unravelling of pistil


and stamen as night fell?

Maybe there was no crime–

Denouement. Maybe


the crime is we.