Meditations on a Pot of Hydrogen

With a clattering grasp the bare bones of her arms
are there for my worst or my wrist or my würst
on the pot again
before the long walk to the drink
the bowels need evacuation
and I wait and I “Ohm,”
and gain not an ass-reverberating blast
but it’s there – felt in the guts
a gut feeling more real than
the time you invested in ENRON
inverted gas hanging like a bat on a stalactite
unwilling to take wing and bite the bug, but
it will, it will – “Ohm,” I say
my energy, my chakras, my new age loon
all focus on sweet expulsion
it will explode
like an old star
an old sun
burning out of the universe
a romantic blaze of glory
tire-tracks of fire peel out
on spoons and poodles
scaredy, scaredy, scarecats
pigtails, pirates, porcupines
Van Gogh, Van Dutch, Van-ity
Allah, Alsatians, Al Capone
the Rolling Stones and ashtrays
cisterns for the sniped-out butt-ends
of humanity
like bent bare bones
wrapping ‘round my waist at my worst.

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