Think about gravel
Think about the mud of Io,
Pungent deep brown of fertilizer
And Costa Rican coffee beans
Thin of strawberry jam smeared
On the gashed flank of a manatee
Her unfertilized purple eggs
Throbbing in a grotto
Think about SKYPING the Pope
From a Quonset hut in the middle
Of a Malakai mine field in
Upper Nile State, Southern Sudan
Benedict’s eggs frying in Yad Vashem
Hey Pope, you trope!
How’re they hangin’?
Entschuldigen sie, bitte?1
I say, where are the Mujahedeen
When you really need them.
Shift slightly to the right.
Nope, Pope, I was just pulling
Your thurible incense thing
What I want to know is
Your opinion of the elements
Should they be allowed to
Continue to exist? Or are they
Simply fantastic figments of
Your mother-in-law’s mirror ball?
Said the Pope, and I quote:
Without them, the prophets would
Never have been born in a trunk
The archangel Lucifer would still be
Ticklin’ those ivories in Gahanna
And the Disciples would suffer
A paucity of peanut butter,
Suffered at the Last Supper.
Cup your face in your hand.
Ich danke Sie, Heilige Kõnig2
I muffle into my machete,
Thinking of tenterhooks,
Tonsils and toenails rattling
Rolling on that image on the way
To the nearest objective Imam,
Think about a woman being stoned
For her lover’s infidelities
Think about random careless cruelty
That twists and burns
Think of fat dripping off the spit
Think, as well, about the lemon surf
Pulsing in the lungs of Venus’s nipples
And the smell of mothballs
In your favorite uncle’s coffin
Add this to your resume
Six years in solitary, undulating
Shake your hair a bit—
Yeah, that’s nice.
Think about the Busby Berkeley precision
Of planets on roller derby debacles
Circling a dying sun with no trepidation
Think about cells sketching virtual
Self-extincting parabolas in silent cocoa
So, if you were a sugarloaf and I a mole,
Do you think we’d have good sex?
And if marble was soluble and piss gold,
Would harvested organs demand their rights
Or furry flounders stop knitting leukocytes?
What do you think of the unstable cost of snot?
Will we soon achieve a continental glut?
Cialis meadows wave at the leaves
Think of the ominous silence of peas
Take your clothes off now, if you please
We’re ready to dig in
-Joanie Fritz Zosike
March 13, 2010