Son’s metal ‘phant–
the oldest and wisest of all
the terrestrial mammals
that we’ve uncovered to date–
has an uncanny ability to get under one’s skin
in a matter of minutes, though
you’d think that such a gigantic specimen
would have trouble assimilating themselves
into such a tight space.
Fortunately for us (and, indeed, the world at large),
proportionality has no place here.
pluck plinko players
from plaid plundering,
piracy never preferred
over pragmatic pilgrimages
(purchased with privilege
and pursued with primeval
produce practically no pressure
in this prideful pageant, Professor–
public or private.
I thundered through the threshold,
enthralled by many a porcupine diary–
when will we ever learn the true everlasting
Constantinople cantaloupe constitution?
I reckon never, though many local geniuses
think there’s a global phenomenon unfolding
with a vengeance.
I can only postulate,
though the post-latte high
seems to have stalled for a moment,
just briefly enough to incriminate
the most experimental of dancers
both near and far.
We’re still left baffled
by Hemingway’s cat collection,
but a learned individual once told me
that the more toes a feline has, the closer to
the beholder becomes.
Shotgun or no shotgun,
there’s quite a bit of cortex
to bandy about all willy nilly
if you’re willing to lose a day or two
to the unbending, unaltered
chimpanzee rhetoric machine.
Oh lord, I’ve lost
too many days
prefers the ditties
over the deities,
though the allocator
would beg to differ.
I track my razors
how a bird of prey
tracks its ancestors’ nest locations:
and otherwise full of a longing
that I can’t begin to understand
without years of intense psychotherapy.
Pastimes indicative of passion incarnate sweep themselves well past the staircase of emotional stagnation and scoop out higher understanding, as though our state of being affords us the time to crank out our pulp and surrender our wills to the greater good (otherwise known as that giant lizard occupying the innermost outhouse amongst the outer rings of the planet we currently refer to as Saturn).
Mauve steel extensions
become sky at twilight
as their tips scrape goose wings.
Feathers litter the ground around the girders,
forming small piles until whooshed away
by indigo breezes from an unknown deity
of incomplete wealth. All mortals quaver, mouths agape,
incredulous when faced with beams of such height
without visible supports.
Each post lives separately from the other,
though all rely on one another for morale
and some kind of root ball structure
that our simian species would do well to emulate.
First draft posted to WHARVED on 11/15/11