the small ones—
chalky oysters and accompanying lemons,
the violets and a folded fan,
a pale rose tucked into
an unlikely gold brioche—
those condensed and curd-y works by
a syphilitic man more famous for
audacious nudes and luncheons sur l’herbe.
How pedestrian, how utterly derivative
to want such perfect pregnant morsels
of a student’s words alone.