INSECURIOUSITY
1.
I'm sitting at my desk six days before
daylight savings - you'll dole out
what dead head prophets foretold
birds, of a feather, and oh how they flock -
we thought it clever to imagine
the geese honking, were it to sound
like: "fuck" "fuck" "fuck" VS.
the more traditional: "honk" "honk" "honk",
how neat it would be when hundreds
piped simultaneously; a haloed
amalgamation of airy "fuck" - until
all that remained were white noise.
2.
so, did you talk to my mom
behind my back, or my dad? -
did you culture cut cook the guts
of my rhubarb pie? oven baker?!
you see the same things I see.
I think. but then what if everyone
were rhubarb pie. Frozen. thawed.
liter d, lifted, digested. Sewer ed
seaward. since that seems appropriate
in such grave circumstances --
3.
look, I don't care about an evil eye.
I finger your ass. why not?
I mean you finger mine. right?
round baby right round - and I'll
spin. see how much we love
each other?
4.
and I 'll - write six verses about it.
about his giant black man's thumbs
slipping out (of) in my allotment of time -
which AnnMarie Eldon terms
serendipitous, since she's a biologist
and I'm mocking a mime,
5.
so, back to powder-coated steel
frames and how they became engineered
in steady handiwork patterns, thumbs,
Measures, pushing early seventies pencils
onto vellum and redlining blueprints
of worlds where you haven't looked
over the rumorous face, book-end, half done.
oh how I'll tell you, when we can make love.
6.
finally, this one is pure mystery. it's my heart.
I'm figuring it out. you can help. mutha fuckas.
—Luc Simonic