you in nothing but a pair of underwear
cooking stir-fry. Something with asparagus.
I’ve lost all respect for making ham but can we
make the nerd stay? For a day or so? Or send one
down from the Northwest (Seattle is so salty!). Or.
Does it have the bends?
I look around for a neck brace. My head hurts
like an IMAX and I don’t know how to graduate
from aspirin. Or liquid gelcaps. Which moose
is candy? A curtain that opens up to nothing.
(Now he’s after me. And everything else
in my head.) Meanwhile in Aspen,
you smoke a salmon.
Losing it isn’t worthless. It’s a religion
based on logic and built on a house of cards.
At least I’ve got one. Not some big rubber ball
that’s floating around in your apartment. Looking
for yoga. Not even apartment yoga. Which
doesn’t even require underwear, so to speak.
With red elbows into the magic carpet
you take off
for homeland
without even
one stick
of gum.
