The Beloved Ego in the Plummy Light Is You

• Nine reasons to Just Vote for Biden, You Insolent Shit.
• Cigarette Bunnies 1 & 2.
• Biggerer at other place, I've caught myself in tablet wondering what more I should be doing there, here, everywhere.
• Sleepy Joe. 
• I've got Doctor Sevrin ears.
• COMPUTER: Warning, main fusion reactors will overload in six minutes.
  QUARK: Are you telling me we're the only ones still locked in?
  ODO: This forcefield must be on a separate system from the others.
  QUARK: But why go to so much trouble to keep people out of the Security office?
  ODO: It's not to keep people out, it's to keep me in. I suppose during the occupation the Cardassians considered their security chief a security risk.
  QUARK: And I know why.
  ODO: Oh, do you?
  QUARK: It's because they knew you were an honourable man. The kind of person who would do the right thing regardless of the circumstances. And now your integrity is going to get us both killed. I hope you're happy.
• Three cats, last night:

HOW TO JUDGE

Lisa Robertson

To those whose city is taken give glass

pockets. To those whose quiver gapes give queens

and pace their limbs with flutes, ropes, cups of soft

juice. To those whose threshold vacillates give

that bruise the dust astonished. To falling

heroes give raucous sibyls’ polished knees.

To those who sip nectar give teeth. And if

they still sip nectar—give green chips of wood.

To swimmers give clocks or rank their hearts

among new satellites as you would

Garbo’s skint lip. To scholars, give dovecotes

to virgins, targets. Justice has nothing on them.

Virgil, sweetheart, even pretty fops need

justice. If they think not let creditors

flank them and watch their vigour quickly flag.

To exiled brides give tiny knives and beads

of mercury then rob them of prudence

for prudence is defunct. To those who fist

clouds, give powder. And if their sullen

wallets flap, give nothing at all. Still

I have not addressed lambent fops

swathed in honey, the stuttering moon

Martyrs, Spartans, Sirens, Mumblers, Pawns

Ventriloquists—or your sweet ego

                            

The Beloved Ego in the plummy light

is you. When I see you in that light

I desire all that has been kept from me

etcetera. For you. Since your rough shirt

reminds me of the first grass

pressing my hips and seeds heads

fringing the sky and the sky

swaying lightly to your scraped

breath, since I hear

panicked, my sister calling

since the gold leaves have all

been lost, and you are at least

several and variegated

I toss this slight thread back

                  

The beloved ego on cold marble

blurs inscription. Hey Virgil

I think your clocked ardour is stuck

in the blue vein on my wrist. It stops

all judgement