Hee-Haw on the Keyboard

I shall do something never done by me before:
grip that slip of murk while it’s still quirking
on the floor and seeking absolution like a guilty
little child, pretending to be mild, sweeter
than it brayed in its appalling hot heyday – not
so long ago or far away: as recent as the dream
it overtook sadistically this morning, waking
me at two, as if that were the best thing it
could do. I shall regress with it wherever

it must mess itself into whatever next experience
it thinks it has to overcome: I shall play dumb,
take notes, observe: regard its essences,
absurdities and urgencies as if they were
my own: see it squeeze from its abstractions
something like a burning stone: passing
through the body like a meteor: a churning
speedy little Earth too bent on self-destruction
to consider birth. I shall keep its rhyming sillinesses

by my side and let them slide and not deride
its nonsense or applaud its sense: I shall let its
hellcats and its pussywillows flourish or expire:
intensify the stream that spews through my
infernally accommodating fingers: lingers as
this hee-haw on the keyboard: sucking fire from
desire. I’ll take its measure with dispassion: sieve
its rash irrationalities until they’ve choked on
their own puffing, kicking stuffing out of nothing.


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