poem || Jeff Harrison

A Syrup of Violets

turn to puns, norms of well-behaved frames
confounded falseness begins with LADY GODIVA
[Gradiva?] red & nicety by the needle
competence too complex to engage the local
my lungs eat away at the Psalmist, my common sense tells
me "readers are not witnesses" - antecedent twists &
turns claim and reclaim Virginia's charms
the mark of more than sufficient law is docility
letters wronged you, didn't they? I can tell.
there's some discrepancy between freedom & biological functions
imperialism was touched off by a syrup of violets, illicit gravediving
thought to be indicative of bolshevism
my darling resemblance is a few steps away
even a dip in the mirage - O iron collar! - is shaken by occasion
the huge interiors shook within the custom
sunken functionaries live for her
debt fattened this calf
the bishop's head hangs from my pommel
some trifle sinks heroes into banditry
you card, you threw them all into postponing violets
is it contumely or reverence that leaves a souvenir where it lies?
a scrap is foreign to its origins - this is very crucial
Virginia bore the Old World into her left shoulder
cold sweat, what do I owe you? a name less sick for
being forgotten, Virginia, was cut short by waking up early
your three little brothers pace a carpet 800 feet long
unfortunate & manacled, though always welcome