it’s just about late enough that the clock hands show
you’re-a dope-for-caring-
and some guy in the smoking room
whose iq has got to be higher than a potato
asks my opinion about the beginning stages
of the development of the boyar class
and if it isn’t
too much trouble for me to
maybe formulate my response in esperanto
but well as for my creative works
maybe I could try to write
about the heart

sure thing
the heart is a hollow cone-shaped muscular organ
but what else is there to write about it?

it’s enveloped by a serous membrane
called a pericardium
and my brain’s of very little use
if it’s not connected to wikipedia

carrying id in a strange city
I can now prove I’ve walked around this planet
with my heart’s visceral lamina
for eighteen years
and won my right
to suppress my liver and lungs

what’s all that got to do with the heart?
I’ve no clue but I guess that
organisms are like communities –
if fried potatoes burn in one apartment
the whole stairwell will stink later

but let’s go and turn the clock one more time
so october definitely won’t end just yet
we’ll take an hour from spring to balance it after
and give scientific confirmation to the feeling
that fall always lasts longer than spring

so yeah that was about the heart
next’ll be about lumbar plexuses or about
how I find out from the bathroom shelf
that your hands smell like marigold
and in every strange kitchen
there’s a trash can under the sink
without a doubt there’s a trash can under the sink