National Nudist Club Newsletter
Into the unisex nursery’s toilet my undershirt falls.
I fish it out and find my face on a marquee.
Florida: in sneakers, I construct
Delft shelves to store scrawled diagnoses.
I enter an observation tank
(rightly considered tragic, irreversible)
to greet the hatchetfaced magician whose dead mother
says welcome back, implying I’ve been fired.
Through Skinner Box glass
he watches me play with dildos, blades. Entranced
by unending orgasm, I dismiss his tendency
to find amelioration in experience’s fluctuating shallows.