Bill Orcutt making papier-mâché villains

I would never try to make you unformidable
dynasty, racked beneath the orchestration of flamingos
like curtailed misdirection all allied with toothcombs
here, on the murky aqueduct where channels paste wrenches
hammers pasted in the courtyard where they used to allow us
a smoke break between the passions of emotion
these are the days that I give you a burning wood enclosure
cemented in the sound of fools and docile patrons
all rectified for the memories of our fathers, yours and mine
your sabertooth tiger is waiting, homemade and taped