__________________________________Under hors d’oeuvres________________________________ 
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 |             Shim chaka limn on onion rings                                           |
 |             I’m not looking for your disfunktion                                     |
 |             Condensing smoke                                                         |
 |             Exploding capsules                                                       |
 |             All is under the Cassiopeia                                              |
 |             I know that you’re Mayan                                                 |
 |             Singing Minoan Poems                                                     |
 |             Alone at the gateway of Mesopotamia                                      |
 |             The words quivered in the mirror then                                    |
 |             Shimmered on the the river                                               |
 |             Tira lira they went                                                      |
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 |             I killed an orchid;                                                      |
 |             I cut it down; I cut it up                                               |
 |             I pushed its pieces to the chimney sweep                                 |
 |             I placed its remains at your blackafronted face                          |
 |             So you could see                                                         |
 |             The body of shallott and not                                             |
 |             The art that chokes the heart apart                                      |
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 |              I killed an orchid, Christmas cactus                                    |
 |              Hid its body in a mattress                                              |
 |              Banished from the garden                                                |
 |              To a floral vacuum                                                      |
 |              Fell amongst oysters, rotting mangoes                                   |
 |              Not like killing eggplants                                              |
 |              With a banjo                                                            |
 |              Not a screen print, nor a lino                                          |
 |              Like a dark woodcut but                                                 |
 |              They were on potato                                                     |
 |              I can remember that now                                                 |
 |              How with a small paring knife                                           |
 |              Set about in the making of                                              |
 |              This imprint to print                                                   |
 |              In this ink                                                             |
 |              Upon that card paper                                                    |
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