Divined by touch, fingers find
The Braille of the backbone, the brow.
-ursine, porcine, leonine-
Each latent potential follows
Its own cartography.
The patient feels silver calipers
At the nape of his neck-
Through the window, he can see the docks,
Sailors loading ships setting sail for other lands.
Three quarter inches, stern brow, full lips-
The Phrenologist makes note of it.
Loose pages whisper in his crimson case.
In the entrance, the clock is chiming.
The clockwork universe is
winding
down.
The study is dark. A long glass case stretches open like the tide,
Offering what the corners of the world have cast up;
Each butterfly affixed to velvet with a silver pin.
The lepidopterist, bug-eyed through the jeweler’s loupe,
Pricks her finger; a drop of blood falls on the crimson cloth.
Reflected in divided eyes.
A house divided against itself
Through genus and Genius, Kingdom and Class.
The case has been made.
Foundations of monstrosity are built;
The clock
quietly
chimes,
biding its time.
On the cobblestone streets, the Phrenologist drops his briefcase.
Silver instruments fall,
Loose pages scatter through the air on hollow wings.
The Lepidopterist binds her finger.
The blood in her folded handkerchief multiplies,
Mimics itself
A red butterfly unfurls within the silk cloth,
Following its own latent cartography.
