Chris Hosea Spring bouquets throng The Frigidaire. Spring is The oldest virgin going. Mild Vandals paint subway escalators blue, and I am Lifted to street level like a package marked THIS WAY UP. I have presents for you all naked under the flagpole. Somewhere, someone is listening to Metallica against his will. ‘Enter Sandman.’ Hooded initiates can’t tell us what they know. Remind me of dizzy pinwheels Of flowers, old mansions on...