Just an undulating motion—a bulge to start—
of spiritus mundi
all over your
Time to accelerate a smile,
assemble my voids.
Welcome to my feedlot, stud!
Meet the fat rapt crowds.
Time to show your head! Hold up your sad effects
cuz something big’s busting out
of my pen,
some mondo-paroxysm recombinant growth hormone!
Your minute has come at last –
Time for you and me
to jive, we’ll snap through my crackling
gates, and mobilize
Look, your junkyard
accessories are already beginning
to give off a minimal type
of shine, dosed on my zings
and chirps and blips, half-hypnotized!
I’m stretching my odd limbs,
I’m scaling your odd parts,
I’ll move in sync to your streaming bits,
letting the virus spiral through the masses.
Everyone’s prickling! Everyone’s gasping!
I wonder how you’ve lived with yourself
all these years—
Time to get over your little complex.
No more hiding behind your cluster
of musty contraptions, licked from within, bummed and spastic.
No more brooding over
the time before
I’ve been missing your reluctant strain
of the human factor! I’ve been singing
of moods and chances, an entire history
of crashes—and I’m spiking
your vague nightmares
with my spit
and my spunk.
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