Smack me in my Margaret thighs!
The wind’s made a full turn
and I am anxious
to find a mother in Kathmandu.
But this weekender yacht is a liking
made of American parts, no wonder.
Did you bring the paddles?
The feathers and glue?
Well spank my Barbara bum!
Look at this! We can raise our foot flags
save a lack of direction
in the stratosphere. What’s that you say?
Why can’t we choose a closer country
where body parts are more
laissez-faire? Well, seeing
as any kind of rowing is most dependent
on my Sandra arms
that would make sense.
But we all know
individuality doesn’t really exist
just as oceans don’t signify
an absence of
ground. It’s incorrigible the illusions
like we are choked by a fourth arm
that really exists. Our
lady limbs will go on hanging
from wherever they hang
no matter what voyage we conjure
from what escape
to what next
whether or not our hawk boat
reaches the clouds.