Draw a zigzag moustache below my nose
in permanent ink, stain my lips with black cherries,

carve a horn from my sacrum and blow my baby there
so cold so sweet so fair, take my eyeteeth

from round her neck and plant them in the orchard,
use darning needles and fishing line to sew

my palms together, distribute my ribs
to the old-timers at the pound, fill my navel

with vitamin water, lily pads, false grunions
and meditate on me, as a concession

to the divas of Swedish avant-synth pop
skin my soles, craft a tom-tom, and transmit

my pulse to Oslo, bleach my mandible and nail it
above the old barn door, plop my balls

into a jar of salt water behind the bar
on the top shelf of the lower depths, plug the dam

with my thumb, use my pubic hairs to flower
a few bald Barbies and gift them to the daughters

of your enemies, use my spine to measure
the first blizzard of the season, my tongue

shouldn't be blamed for a lifetime of broadcasting
bullshit so please, friend, scrape my osculator,

my canticle, my chatterling, my taste bulb
and return her to her tribe at the bottom

of the sea, ride your bike to the arboretum
on a perfect day in October and give

my ears to that 1-legged keytarist, maybe
he can pass them off as black truffles,

use my back for Scrabble and my skull to drive
the nail that held my picture into your wall,

take the beeswax from my ears so I can hear
one damned song, but fill my mouth with nectar

so that honeybees will love me at last
(saw my baby there so cold so sweet so fair)

pack my eyes into my heart, you know why,
and at the end of the night, make of me a kite,

use my humeri as frames and dried sweetmeat
as paper so that I may sail toward the sun,

a ronin seeking an end to dissonance,
trying to discover harmony and long tails.