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Oh yes,
Naked
balance the orange on the fountain
drink your cool fill in cupped hands in ridicule
persevere in the indecent act
in the impossible christmas freeze Clown
do balance the tangerine, do danse the medusa
do rise and fall with your muse before
the amused affront applauds its cloakedness
confront the season with your will
to wash to dominate the water
and clap around it your flapping, goosebumped skin
slip and get up again, retry the jest
swindle the outrage and then
get it dressed
'oh, give me back my short antenna, the kind that used to touch you'
fragmentary splinters
fractured lives
oh, ouch, but I didn't want to prick your finger
I wanted, rather, to sew us together
no, not by electronic media
spiralling phone lines
I mean bodily grafted
carded, geographically in proximity
and invested in inspiration
stuck with splinters like the theory hedgehog
this rose was meant to bleed
real blood into you–
not through your internetted weave
I mean fragmentarily bound like
chipboard if necessary
whatever so long as it's a clean,
unbroken slate
a surface to write on, not through
a pincushion of real intent
and design potential
That kind of a marriage