1.  In My Imagination
 
Why can’t my sweet nothing, milky, meaningless, polyphonic,
swelling in my hindbrain, mediocre, motivated, polymorphic,
 
sound life like
a people think? 
 
Terrified and tired of this tendency to talk, tell all,
as if startled strangers could be my fictive family,
 
I prayed, psychological pastoral, silence,
for a vacuum sucks better than a wife.
 
In a “tea room” of the library,
in black magic marker, I
 
however, am, scribbling number, measure-
ments, vita, sniffing, on my bent finger…
 
 
2.  In My Body
 
is that ass?  In my imagination,
in my body, my unborn son,
 
squatting, aiming at the light, pressuring the lever,
winks through a clacking plastic View Master,
 
its white cardboard prayer wheel circling,
a slideshow, Man’s Brown Planet, flashing
 
past:  self-abuser, wrist-slitter, murderer,
brat, this ovoid seat is warm, remember,
 
shared, not shocking:  wow, pop, last night’s cocktails,
various Easter egg dyes, did create a dung rainbow:

inbred people, pass our sentence,
speak it:  innocence, irrelevance?