Gripped

Brutus wears his mask
of Mother-Love
on the right hand

as a gnarling back,
citing the hallucinatory
invasiveness

of the beginning of the Ides’ morning

schema.

Cut-curling, cutting three
letters shaped
a ghosts’ horn (of

the farm of Priapus)
configured as
regicidal remedy,

a bend in prayer is

rough coinage to
Ptolemy’s unbidden
tether;

and knowing apology,
scraping vapor at orange
dawning of red awaiting

throat.