July 1, 2022
You’d cut me quick if you had a knife.
You’ve sharpened your tongue to kill.
If I am thinner now, I was thinned so.
But fat man that I am, my rolls await.
Your fingernails flick along my 2 balls
With idiosyncrasies of movements as
If you’d studied the topography up it
Individually each, gauged its contours
To enable the best slicing inches deep
That would incapacitate their seeding.
Abstraction has gone now, and magic
That glides along as if hidden sidewise
Between the cracks smokes cigarettes
Waiting for its opportunity to turn up
Everything ex post facto as bent, wry,
A grin on its face to entice you to cut
Your losses to just scraps of skin, inks
That blacken minutes but not forever.
Whatever you write down is evidence
For having lived forever in our orbits.
O, come along, can’t I be a best friend
To your jarring ironic endlessnessting?
