Convention for Strauss

In the citadel convene men and women of various names In attendance or behind a screen They can't parse out the language that parts them but it seems Like their dresses have something in common They stare blankly and clinically The staring is circulating uroborically Their fingers are knotting 'round their chins & pupils are asking yet have some answers within They swing like clockwork or like a machine Why do they convene? The fingers are comically struck by each utterance And mouths like torus wheels twist the faces like a clay figure or liquid metal They hear a language they don't recognize They speak in turns and the faces repeat the scene The film burns and the eyes return and look back to search within The pupils hide & the sclerae instead… Convene in the convention of psychotherapists The patient is lady Strauss & their long face is a joke that writes itself If it weren't for the perfect hair "Why the long face? Why gorgeous curls?" Lady Strauss repented violently for every sinner's misdeed & she herself once or twice convened with the deity Amidst a number of other freaks & she never spoke of these pasts when he slept with the whores Or fought in fascist wars & he forgot all of that when she drank to toy with the ladies She forgot where he was at this time too… She's a lover with a poor memory And a heart too cold & he would strap for the pilgrimage of the estranged From a language to another To no homogenous order… Our indifferent languages This is why we convene Wearing sun dresses and underneath jeans & we will strip every hour and wear something new & each speaker will teach the rest about Strauss's misfortune and her greed As we pick the shattered self We claim Strauss has no name