It has every right to bare
this clenched fist of a grudge
embittered by techno-Jovian
whims and base transformations
Once delicately formed— two
tips pressed en pointe, three
others elegantly tucked— it
danced with a golden shaft
pulling indigo pirouettes
across a swept ivory stage
Then came the re-pose: a claw’s
arched looming. Unhappiness
fell as five wilted stems,
beggar mouths forced to fumble
toward those impoverished
humps of white-on-black glyph
The other hand is left
complimentary, richly gripped
by understudy glee, being