Dignified Schism


Down, down your spiral staircase:
my Doppler heelclick, your Newton teardrop--
thirty-three feet
per second, per second--
some delicate torque on the antique doorknob.

Fine, fine-- an urban headcase;
my legacy doubtful; your pillow, a cistern.
Vanquish a thought--
another, another--
and try not to dwell on the question of tenure.