egg and sphere—
portraits of the famous:
faceless old horses
pulling hearses

I see my face in the mirror
and crack up with laughter

my laughter cracks up with laughter too
which in turn cracks apart,
like a russian doll

all the way inside to the egg, the sphere
the devil’s cackle

that convulses our limbs
when the hearse stops
at someone else’s gate—

a back in my window
black and big as night