Reason’s gone to brain-clobber, gray custard 
from the scent that lacquers undersides of pantry 
lampshades in layers, scent that pervades 

the sprung floor in the dance studio, companion 
to errant hairs, pliant cotton threads that began their break 
on the nailhead risen from the locker room 

bench—that elusive constant event 
that commingles with transmission drip 
that signs pavement in amoebic script, particular 

odor, chlorophyll contaminant 
where once the newest Jade leaves 
freshened the dusty housing 

of the bookshelf. Clarify 
the purged suspended cause 
of turbidity. The measure of which— 

pollen, flecks of human skin, 
beads of industrial residues 
cast off by colliding asteroids 

slowed by sticky atmosphere, 
abhorred by a clean very clean vacuum 
cleaner at the end of a string, 

tribute to the invading king, the command 
of what can be qualified. 
Even as he failed he failed.