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.