III. The Louse
The Life and Times of Mr. FabuLouse
Put the record on the turntable while I tell
tall tales of the tiny one—see
him now, clinging to the vertical surface
of great rooms all over the world
Havana, Tbilisi, Busan, Tallinn, New York, New York
In microscopic purple
velvet tux he’s the flea
on the wall, feelers waving he feels
he feels it all—not the fly
(whose honeycombed eyes scramble brain
rendering imbecilic) no, Mr. FabuLouse is
old-school Flâneur, he can’t hold a job
he’s too busy working—somebody’s got to
see what’s happening and he inspires
confidence wherever he goes—right now
he’s commissioned a famous street-art ant collective
to make him a marquis and a matchbox modern
opera house—he’s unstoppable!
On his off
days he just hangs around the Lower East Side
in a cheap black suit so worn it looks charcoal
On those days he just orders takeout
and waits
for the blues to pass
and the streetlights click on orange
in the gathering aquamarine.