A French Piano Tuner & a One-Eyed Glassblower Walk into a Bar

Would you rather hear the louche pun drawn from glory hole, lip wrap or fingering or hear a tiny hammer striking wire? Would you rather see the molten birthing glass? Seat Eros next to Kronos, for the banter.I heardshe’s yet unplowed — I heard your quiver dangled down — I heard you dwell in borrowed forms — love’s nothingbut glimmer-to-wither, dawn’s fireflies expired. In this place we sift & bounce the words like dice thrice dip a pipe into the magma,o my stars. Lear & Gloucester walk into a bar debating again the color of bluffs or moors or cormorants:like craquelure     like damp tea leafdriftwood    no, peat steam    no, brined sand-apple ink Were all your letters in fact suns? Forgotten, after all that trouble — Are those bellows blowing some? A field of broken bottles, fragments blue. A tune invented to divert a girl.