Annus Mirabilis

M.M.X.I., bountiful year.

“Oh, I’ll give you everything.”

We pierced—pierced!—the celestial sphere.

Fifty-two poems, prolific.

“Your heart, it has been emptying.”

We unearthed the hieroglyphic.

What ever inspired your new art?

“Confess it until you are free.”

Smut never required a head start.

When will you exhibit the stuff?

“Expression is now what it seems.”

Will you continue soon enough?