Caroline Davidson Giving up Opera Form can’t forge angels out of pain.             I still praise        tight-shut arias,    caramel gilded breath.              Once embellished to “flatter the vanities of the ruling classes.” Seria to preserve public surrender. How could I be so cursive? My head contracts carnivals.              Once in an Ohio bout of    concession, I slid along the addict’s chin to rot. Big knife he forged in prison    on display in his kitchen–     the entr’acte of damage slewed and long.              Fuck the Arcadian Academy           and “heart like a clock” similes.    I’ll crust the crowds with stage-     worthy nothing                 and leave a shattered         After.