Why so fierce! This reaction to, response to,
her knees, important as Rushmore.
Let me explicate, I begin. Then I spit.
A spurt of attention yields up
me and Keats, iris to iris. Oh
World of Grownups, tense and shiny, give me a hot rub.
The cornfields are a scourge. The breast of the country browns. The bladder fills with droplets. The measures load with notes. The songs are all a swindle and one day
you won’t have the pleasure of breathing.
A flare of temper, wonderful and true,
yields up Have I told you lately, then She will not die.
Dear God, rescue her
or she won’t be rescued.
Her breath a flint, born to the lifespan of a wasp.