IIII. L’Empereur

Wanting to exclude the possibility that door was ever closed, a glass jaw
Conspired in that direction. Awaking as the emperor, fretful, between the poles
Of substitution, of your four-poster—Here, we find a quincunx of hidden pips.
They should be immersed, admired in a sequence of things just as sink s-curves,
Nasal concha; and guarantee understanding, by going no further than mentioning
It—Because by now you had closed the door, in thrall to what is spoken of in four-

Lettered words—Careful to avoid saying how much I admire them—The four-lettered
Vows preceding our arrival; we dictate to ourselves in the otherwise silent night, jaw
Buzzing with a dormant virus. This stratification of the intimate—Its mere mentioning
Withdraws into the rough. That locked-room genre and its imitators recommend its poles—
The current is received, where the gaze manages so many deflationary points, an S-curve.
Expecting something, not necessarily this—Your sleeping, unguarded face bites a bitter pip,

All that you are loath to discuss in depth, and yet a fruit’s quarantined poison in the pip
Is the wholesale disaster of an orderly life—Neither side will benefit from applying four
Corners to the past. Staggering along for a stretch, transforming domains of the S-curve,

We are implicitly answered in the process of sketching the unusual pairing of the jaw—
Mammals today use two different bones, the squamosal, dentary, to gnash their cage poles,

Where the quadrate and articular migrated, shrank, the middle ear complex mentions

Events to molest our lives—These floating air masses we accept without the slightest mention,

Or with the fiercest torment, are the same impulsive strikes bounded by membrane; and pips,
The hammer, anvil, and stirrup. Having only one perspective to play with, or to put to the poles
Of electrolysis, we witness a coded message. Not aspiring, but certain, the discernible four
Letters require distortion. As if declared to bear a burden of back-spinning amniotes, an S-curve
Along the dorsum flinches against outer rumblings. That is, before rostral columns—our jaws

Gasp for dissolved oxygen, and to protect a father’s secret. A sluggish or stammering jaw
Conceals within itself an age-old question of the primacy of talking; a point worth mentioning
With every word of apology. There is much effort to retrace your vertebral column’s S-curve,
Probe the skin for a permeating dye; at last, to hit on someone else’s decomposable pips.
Physiological closeness of being the deflector of a bathroom tile’s reverb, and celestial poles

Formed from an acquiescence of yours—Through my sagittal suture, from what I swap for a four-

Lettered word—This liquidates the need to understand, for now. Reordering these four,
Bristling walls of the basement membrane, the cochlea clocks my attention to stray. The jaw’s
Playback feeds, in spite of the higher mind’s perpetual sleep. This method, exerting the poles
Of human obligations; until they are learnt, results in a less convincing abandon—I mention
This; if after recent nights, the palmed-off sentences suggest nothing of accelerated S-curves.
Passing in the hall on some errand again, you will escape, and render this thrown dice’s pips.

In the beginning, for me, four-letter words were elementary particles; the unexpected pips
Passed my mouth. As usual, then I began thinking of magnetic poles, mentioned as they are never possessed for long—Tracking the S-curve of my astonished host, I slow my imperious jaw.