Oscar Night Party
point of space travel, an envelope floating before you.
All it takes is the laughing ass to marble the flood
with you. To fathom the grilling, to buck up and bare fang.
I'm not triple gusting or any of the obvious things.
I'm just as plain as a shovel, the shank of a boot
shoving it under. I can't borrow from you any more than
I can hesitate a moment before the sudden cascade of spring.
I've done it, I admit it. The sky is damp and scuzzy,
the last of the black snow is now covered in new snow.
Like looking at a person with a bad facelift in zero gravity:
it's not nice. All I want is steam and a plank of dread,
and I've got them. Hook, shine, and blinker.