The carefully stoppered test tubes of masturbating CIA operatives
            snug in velvet clamps
                     in a briefcase----handcuffed to the wrist----of a trafficker
                           who plummeted from a tall suspension bridge
                                                       into oily water

     such were the obscure ramblings of the caller
to the late-night radio phone-in.
On his cranium the whole burden sits.
He stands at a payphone in the suburbs
soaked through, scared out of his wits.
Out of the matrix, generic & white
a van approaches, its satellite dish
honed to his inner ear.

Be advised: into this alchemy of fear
already lachrymose & sudoric
to pour a little of the baser substance.

Check. Unclenching all his valves.

The call was mostly caught by time delay. Still
Your jumpsuited men need not spare the prod.

Check. Jolting now the soiled recreant.

[. . .]

Your status?

He is launched on his most humiliating journey,
reeking hysterical & buckled to a gurney.