As you would suspect the plow
of infidelity if the ox
had a human face so you would
the dead if they rehearsed their marriages
with wooden spoons (& we won’t
insult your intelligence with an explanation
as to why). Suffice it to say
that at this point the metaphor
is already so mannered that its collapse
is inevitable,
thus, a decline
that could be likened to the sudden change
of an ECG’s recorded pulse into a final, straight
blue line, which blue is precisely the blue
of the eyes of the SS Oberfuhrer who at this point
marches in to read a proclamation concerning
the nature of the poetry that will be acceptable
to the Fourth Reich, something to the effect
that it must be clear & concise, easily swallowed
between commercials as you congratulate yourself
on the ever-increasing sensitivity of your palate.