XIX Sun

The unfolding of the lecture in real time, on the bright screens
Charged with dust. But one does not simply watch, as the ambergris cures.

Taking pen to computer, she leans purposefully on a desk, the faux-naïf

Whose darkened face is split by transom chevrons and midafternoon sunbursts,
Her pupils’ whirring gears against their internal fermentations of lunch,
A keen student of fabric, though she extends bare arms to the sun’s razor points

Without any further calculation, her chalk seizes upon a thought’s point particle
Mass, and with combined theater of a Bakelite bracelet and mother’s watch she screens

Their eyes' mineral tints, for those who will have a private audience with her at lunch.

When the blaze suggests it is midday, and the implicit texts are put away for cures
Found in colleagues’ sentimental assumptions of family, or fashion—this blouse’s sunburst

Yoke, or biologic force of vintage drape. Parting the remote consciousness of a faux-naïf

She grinds the organic down, chin on fist. In a golden paralysis, the faux becomes naïf.
Nearing fifteen years with a demurely ambiguous title, her student self permits a particle
Of doubt. Whether to have pursued the delay of the law, with its appeal of kitchen sunbursts
Before facing dockets, and seats in conference rooms lit by a single bulb. Before the screen
Slam indicating she left, leaving behind a courtyard amassed with bicycles. Someone’s cure
For nighttime terrors, and whose keen attention, allows them to evaporate before lunch.

She is instead a workaholic, with a gourmand’s appetite, and willed scarcity of lunch.
The issue is settled by drifting off topic. There was at least one broken engagement? Naïf
Entry into employment? Yet no one can stop the sun from rising each morning. The cure

Of time is still marketed, wedding persistence to a curve tracing of personal finance. Point
Particles coalesce into a woman’s essence, and her unconscious optioned for the screen,
If to draw gasps. The card depiction of two crosses abutting the unitary I, the sunburst

Creates a desert in its insolated pages. Likewise, the skin’s memory of sunbursts—
How to confine the mind’s fiery altar without reducing itself? Invitations to lunch
Belie an erotic subtext. That the cross sum of confidently complete individuals she screens
Beforehand for their credentials, married status, has mutated through many faces, naïf,
Nonnative. There is no English translation currently available, and this is a sore point
Lost on the dispersed audience. With history at her back, the now dissolved cure—

Controlled accidents—incandescent throughout a night’s broken filaments, congealing cures
In crystals of vitriol. For to cure is not to care, as past clients, or a new one, cater sunbursts
By turns syrup or saffron, and gifting scarves, or terra-cotta medallions to score points.
She evokes a sultry mood chaotic to most readers; the matter is discharged without screening.
Besides, these crossed wires have a panoramic reach. Recall Danaë’s golden rain by a naïf
Painter, except his gusts of energy were the toxins of chrome yellow mixed in his lunch.

In our passive resistance, all is mere numbers, the luncheon receipts, the talking cures
Luminaries by house, by degree, yet there is no implied meaning behind sunbursts, this naïf

Restlessness. As one knowing that pointillist patterns are later accepted screens.