Barber of the Pea

For John Ashbery “Good Barber of the Pea!” I exhumed, high into the vag where the barber keeps his pea — “Good Sprout!” His mouth, his gray, hunted tongue, always in the distance — “No use denying we master the particular service we deny ourselves. In the shade of this pea (the sum of his shade and the gavel flexing above his head) I will become a milliner to cover what work I’ve done. Or else, I’ll begin anew at the infant chin, where nothing grows but chins! Outside, snails, vines, surpass me and must — gaining pews upon pews. But don’t think for a sec I don’t know the way out of here, that release is one hair — spiral stair — top of which cleavage evaporates”