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 and 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”