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INSERT: Little Pistorius in a Sleevelet of Mirrors A ballet performed by the corps du ballet of S——– to the music of Satie’s Embryons desséchés in the middle of the opera, Pistorius Rex, & in the very womb of the theatre which cannot be located on earth NO-OUVERTURE: But an interlude, a Quaalude, under Europa, an etude, a vein where the scholar can ride a pen assassination, an arbour assignation in which a nymph snaps her neck and goes cyanic like a cygnet, her pupils unspooled, and a poet hangs his lyre amid the branches lyre-stage death of the author wearing a gold noise-cancelling machine for a crown and golden jump rope for a noose getting high, lying down like a jock on the highway with his hands in the curls of another jock because they saw it in a movie: how to love and bury their hands in each other: androphiles on the dividing line remember when the jocks all extinguished themselves in an Illiad of trust, magic, desire and idiocy? – Our opera’s got too much of these already! – so bring on the ballet already! TABLEAUX MORTES: Ahem The wealthy men of S——– would like to see their mistresses’ dinner-plate tutus and powdered thighs, teasing calves, ankles so easily cocked between thumb and finger Leave the slippers on, sister Tiny spoons for caviar and cocaine But the bone spoon is the best spoon Occiptal dishlet, better than Spode or a krater of the moon Place to sip Spores and spicules Dear eyebone! China white! Knockout punch! Fontanel! Ahem As patrons of the Opera, these men demand more ballets per Opera They are refugee princes, pencil manufacturers, salt-peter synthecisers, clockwork organisers, and beaver-pelt hats purveyors And also the purveyors of ringtones, Glocks, and daytrading software They sit in stalls and boxes with chains hanging down their chests because they are also mayors & brewers from New Glarus