Smoking Gun
On earth in abundance
is all that we’re good for.
You can remove all the statues
but not what they stood for.
One more indignation swept
under the sod. Boil the child
and spare the gastropod.
How do you like my broad,
muscular, lubricated foot
now? Twelve inches if it’s two.
And check out this chitinous
spiral bada-bing! shell
—almost see-through!
Watch me distract you
with abject explicitness.
Watch me vibrate and flagellate,
amputate and swell.
These Proverbs can go to Hell!
The cut worm wriggles in two.
Poor worm, fuck you! The plow
digs the Earth; it drinks my whine
and keeps on plowing. In the name
of Artificial Intelligent Design:
Mark Zuckerberg, give us a sign
—a thumbs up, a virtual howl,
anything to justify this perpetual
bowing. “Violence begets violence!”
Christ snaps! me with a towel.
I respond with the sound of silence,
stitch of cross hairs on his brow.
How now scared cow? Heaven
is for tyrants. I hereby disavow
that celestial alliance, and crusade
instead for this Robo-Maid
as a miraculous appliance.
It sure as heck beats self-reliance.
You can tweak her tweeters
without defiance. Or if she hollers,
reroute her for compliance.
Easy as creation science!
Tough as snails. First-time caller
piping twice-told tales.
So let us go then you and I,
a moonwalk lit under camera eye.
Let us resign ourselves
to the auguries of Fate:
And in the end, the shit you take
is equal to the shit you make.
My lizard brain is squirming like a toad.
“Take Abecedarian Road,”
they say, “and go straight, straight, straight!”
But I divagate.