I imagine the studious
seer would see the serpents

clearly coiled in the apt
house’s corner; may say, beware,

or this is where your instincts
live in continual madness

as they directly aspect
Cassandra so your alarms fall

on ears plugged with mud, nay, clay,
the red sticky stuff needing sticks

for cleaning and you’ll dare not track
such filth across the carpeting

as shallow as the mansion floor is,
or some such lecture the prophet

scented in thick Turkish incense
might see because of being versed

in arts the west views suspiciously.
But a sage has said, if you see it, it is.