mister mole

i can play all.

i am the music.
the music is me.
i can create the music.

everything is the music i create
          and
everything i create is the music.

i can hear it playing through my mind
          every
                  instrument
          every
                  sound
          every
                  note
          in perfect pitch

playing together
     to make one

         to make one music.

i call it the testicles

stimulate your ears
to quoteunquote hear
the drowning din of

mutilated militias
whose marching is
markedly monotonous

obsessed with the
excessive and elaborate
protocol of courting

those in fear
of the hairy knuckles
of the clutches

of death
shouting redundancies
for their own sakes

(the selves AND the redundancies
i know i know that IS a lot of sakes
but we'll manage)

shielded from shame
stepping softly sneaking
swiftly down

the snaking slipshod
stair of science
(watch the parades)

these men furiously
blindly leading the charge
down alliteration's alleyways

into the hearts and minds
of those whose egos
go to die again

possessing
what is traditionally called
the quoteunquote willingness

some call it the mettle
i call it the testicles
and there's some mountain

and there's egoless corpses
with giant fucking testicles
pacing around the icy summit

efflorescing sense
seeking for seeking's sake
pursuing that which it is

not rational to believe exists
just placing another toothpick
at the foot of this

          excruciatingly
      jerry-rigged
ladder  of   toothpicks
  shamelessly aimed at
    poking the bear

he must be poked
but careful careful
it's bursting at the seams

that which we'll call supreme
the truth's king
singinginginging

and if you feel
the sound in your mouth
keep chewing.

orange stand

because
it looks less splendid
when it's not on a pedestal

huffing and puffing

nobody lost count

of the drops that fell

from the sun-beat brows

of these fanatic laborers

each excruciating extrusion

leaching sweat from their

slimy red skin so hot

that without reason or discourse

their cells sacrificed

those resplendent reserves

(yes, it’s just water, Thales)

he wasn’t half-wrong

and before you enraged

scientists slide back your

chairs and huff and puff

just remember tomorrow

you precious raging bannerguards

for team anti-entropy

that there is a reason

why nobody lost count.

nobody is keeping count

so stop frowning at me

and go make those sweaty

fucks some lemonade.