Jake's Flea Market

on the corner in market square
where the door opens into the black eagle

the weaver’s son become the printer’s devil   
regard how the   inks on his four fingers 
and on his thumb dance on the lute strings   plucked
by the   inks on his other hand’s greeter and thumb   

regard   but regard too much you’ll miss 
how his clefted chin’s a goat’s hoof

how the he goat in his eye
is a cot across a brothel room   it invites
the matron   it invites the maiden to lie