‘Lunamoth,’
Isabelle Carbonelle
Oliver Rice

Griffin Enters His Notebooks Alive

Faculties poised for orders of the world,
fantasies of Cambodians,
afterthoughts of statues,
sensualities of the rain forest,
who speaks in a stolid tone,
who is neither lithe nor sturdy,
whose azaleas appear to fail,
all random hypotheses and purposeful ardors
for Bushmen, ballerinas,
cafes of a counterearth,
caravans out of remotest antiquity,
who neither dances nor sings,
who is allergic to green peppers,
whose old dog will surely die.