I'm licking my teeth
and the expanse of carpet
between us
is skipping by leaps and bounds
around the mulberry bush
where the monkey chastens the weasel
and our hands, joined on the stem
of smokeware
are like a left and right
half of some kind of
vector diagram's
attempt to explain Pointilism
through a tie in to
the Large Hadron Collider
and the laughter
slapping the back of my head
like a baby's ass to a giggle track
on an early evening show begging
for a profitable demographic
isn't the bubble
burble
pop
and sizzle of pearls of wisdom
to a frying pan of woes
as much as it is
a salamander clinging molecule to molecule
nerve to vibrating yard of fat cased and stupeffectedly tense
nerve
to the sole of my foot and the knowing
that if i ever put that foot down
it will be very
very
messy
and I'd rather it happened
away from your recording eye.
