National Nudist Club Newsletter

Into the unisex nursery's toilet my undershirt falls.
I fish it out and find my face on a marquee.

Florida: in sneakers, I construct
Delft shelves to store scrawled diagnoses.

I enter an observation tank
(rightly considered tragic, irreversible)

to greet the hatchetfaced magician whose dead mother
says welcome back, implying I've been fired.

Through Skinner Box glass 
he watches me play with dildos, blades. Entranced 

by unending orgasm, I dismiss his tendency 
to find amelioration in experience's fluctuating shallows.