ticki-ticki-tava let’s get lunch, somebody! little do the litany know, the cat is out of the bag; nobody drowns on my watch! back down to earth, you wee simpleton!
She’s watching me, way over my head; she has concerns, i think, for the undead—that would be me, knocking on heaven’s door, knowing darn well that my time is not up you’re needed in the lurch but what about my extension to the woman i mention, thinking highly of me, and what she does not know? the laws of physic change nightly each in-crement we grow—to a point then, in a universe without beginning or end.
excitement, then? then do you still feel it? and a little let down, too—hoping, i guess, for a magic bullet. “i feel the sensation—i feel her youth” let it be what it is, and if it doesn’t know that, then, well, that’s not the right fit
the right fit? yeah, johnny-come-lately, the mystery she spies i want to be a part of that! not so fast you little jackrabbit, you can’t get off the risperidone at the drop of a hat ”and i was thinking i could,” bank account . . . be pro-tected—hey, not even off the wagon!
say something good about me, sell it to
the stars! my purpose is my engine,
and it works, intelligence in a shoe,
i’ll take this Camaro for a little spin
jump right in, jack rabbit loco call me!
blond woman hiding underneath my dress,
shies away from eternal springs, she’ll be
left wondering, how does he impress?
sailors come along; want to spread
their seed—feeling ever present, the need
to be seen; wait, mama, you’ll be misread,
the historical moment is what i concede
first transwoman president, eyeful of
gall; old timer, now, your secret is out
eat less, then, and you’ll fit in like a dove,
you can wear that skirt, what’s he on about?
hair on me, no hair on them, that’s a bridge,
in this life, that I cannot approximate,
eating cereal, then, until i cross that ridge,
thinking, does it matter? i do not date
feeling the firestorm, angel on high,
no constipation in heaven, stool’s gold,
ask me about my love and I will deny
you, flipping off the preacher as I unfold,
determined to do this—flush in the sack,
making love to a serious elephant—
watch, dream-brother, don’t paint it black
it’s part of the conquest, the thrill of the hunt
stool turns to gold, flush it down the toilet,
money-market account, nervous of that,
spinster day-dreaming of the man she’ll get
when all this talk wears off, sly as a cat