O, the magnet sway of knowledge

O, the magnet sway of knowledge, fugitive
as laughing pard, vacuumed out of puny sighs
as the long moron argues… aggravated legs,
perineum… mad ploys… I screwed, not up
not around… the angry joy into the face of surface
aether… with average banding… this written “from
the heart” as lopsided tract… the movement is holding…
like fleas on a liminal stare, binge thinking… always uncut
in pastel honorifics or glide stupor. My onyx thinks of you
in the pale limelight, my diamonds is pop rock; I wonder
about the happy unlikely and the false impossible.
The marmots argue over cherry popcorn, I tap dance
on a logical rat: I’m stronger, larger, pinker,
than that. The surplus smiles at the preeners,
and stinky sculptures spring up where there were none
before, and that’s kinda cool in the prosodic tinniness
of this cranial weltzschmerz, you know, I love
my dog I don’t have a dog, I love the paper clock
that threatens sudden endings, I love the conversations
that play air guitar in my mordant memories. Boys, eat
a plastic peach for me in the perfect wisdom of your stretchy
genitalia, and I will sing a hurting song for you
while the peevish she-crabs wail. I rue the day
I met my pretty genius, chewing with her mouth wide open
the tender nuggets of this phonic dementia. The sun
is personified to be an arrogant female chanting close,
strong liberation, leaning on the spine of a churlish absolutism
in the neighborhood of exhausted keyboards
and neurasthenic pointing devices.