Crazy Jane Curses Her ReMaker

Wayne Clifford's Jane Again arrived yesterday, and she looks fabulous. Though she's not at all courtly, and evidenced in this second poem from the collection CrazyJane Curses her Remaker.

Crazy Jane Curses her Remaker

Who thinks he knows a self
that never was but song
a man once used for shelf
to rest his pretense on

has doubled breadth to Her
Who Measures out the Fire
thru which you call me here,
so intent on answer.

You fail to see I’m bait
the question’s set aslant.
If you can’t see the back,
my face convince you yet,

as Helen took in Faust,
and, succubal temptress,
so usered him the cost
embalmed in each caress,

that once belief had spread
through every of his senses,
desire turned to dread
to pinch his own pretenses.

May what fame be sudden
as grass kindling;
all you guess, hidden,
endless riddling;
may trust be rotten;
vows piddling.

May beggar ghosts wheedle
what god you surmise
to bless your eye by needle
camel-wise.