in errant notes
traded for matter
in variable boxes
begs the question:
why practice with backflips
in sine curves of trigonometry?
bicycle rides, trashed golf cart trips
drunk in irrational geometry,
excuse me sir, can you take a paper hint?
i’m straight up staring at you.
fresh printed, straight from the psychotic mint,
pick up the damned clue:
texted language that stings
like lightning lashed from a whip
injured by a summer fling,
a half-joking precursor to strip
with satin i’ll pin
your feather to bed
the fangs in my grin
set to puncture your head.