Colloquialism
“
I know, right?”
Is what my
girlfriend perennially says to me like a prayer bead mantra
Lolling her head side-to-side, windshield wipers on
a Renault
While
simultaneously drilling her thumbs
Into the socket of her cell phone, texting, at 30-30
Over chai tea, a Benedictine round,
insinuating that she knows
Everything about the corpus of Global civilization
whenever she concurs with a previous made statement
Or when I inadvertently
crack a witticism like a defaulted sneeze.
She knows all about the universal patterns of
weather
when I use
the word “resplendent,” to delineate how
the horizon
Feels like
pressed spring linen lightly dappled with
raspberry smudges
Trickling in the east accompanied by a drape of a
fresh sunshine—
Telling me that she already knows, before stating
that she is correct.
She knows
that the coffee tastes better when I use
Our Hamilton beach Coffee maker vs. our Keruig
coffee maker
(Both of which look like leftover droids from a
failed Lucas side project.)
Or when I tell her how sumptuous the
Vegan quiche
we just ingested
looks like
something a petting zoo llama regurgitated
After taking a supplementary dietary enema
And I will overtly lie, seemingly embellishing
stating
“This is the most healthiest thing that
Has ever been entered the post-modern architecture of my
anatomy,”
to which she will
responds:
“I know, right?” between listless chomps—
All the while Looking into the lens of her Hello
Kitty pink Iphone.
She knows the Greek serial numerals to every sunken
Scroll lost in the library of Alexandria; can recite
Pi up to the 183rd decimal integer
without taking a breath
Backwards, drunk on duty-free Absinthe,
Before
chiseling out her organic shopping list in
Sanskrit, calligraphic font utilizing an
Ostrich quill and ink as a utensil.
Knows when it is apropos to employ the transitive
form of the
interrogative “whom.”
interrogative “whom.”
Correcting my grammar even though I am writer
While I Profusely tell that I am linguistically Incorrect
That I am grammatically maladroit, that I am a failure,
That I am wrong
Which snidely commiserates with replying : “ “
“I know right?”
She’s
mastered Hatha Yoga. Fencing. Briefly
interned with Boeing.
Can tell me the capital and populations density of
every country
Casually whistling the
national anthem
during the opening ceremony of the Olympics
before each
colorful banner appears.
Finding sine cos and tangen in the Euclidean avenue of
the Nepali flag.
She configured
e=mc 2/cogito ergo sum/ Polonius’s advice to Laertes
All out of spaghetteos in her high chair using
wadded application for mensa as her diaper
Engendered verifiable replicas of the 7 wonders of
the
Ancient world out of Legos and silly putty when she
was three
Mastered the art of the Kabala while all of her grade
school
contemporaries were listening to Raffi albums
fucking
getting off watching the secret of Nimh.
She quilted a chess board out of the periodic table of
elements
Made Modular origami out of rehashed, thoroughly
edited editions
Encyclopedia britinca, the Oxford English
dictionary,
War and Peace, and the Tibetan book of the dead
The first time she shaved the wilted
follicles off
the petals of her vagina
she used Occam’s
Razor in lieu of a bic.
As I retort flippantly stating “Geez that really
Must of have hurt you probably inflicted yourself
with a
Rash,” she responds by stating,
“ I know, right??”
She can tell you what happens when the DNA of matter
divides itself atomically
Tympanic splurges, thermonuclear fissions
disintegrating plumes
Tufted in a morel cumulus of mass extinction.
Humanities botched science fair project incinerating
Homemade
jello lava Infinite Modalities prolegomena,
Tractatus, Gnosticism
Graduate exegesis’s Flotilla of principias and
errata
The philosophy of the world to come.
She can describe the nearsighted
mosaic of the sub-atomic kingdom
Blinking, Apiary den of molecules
Scuba-diving
past the coral reef barrier of microscopic Quarks
String theory resembling cuneiform on unblemished
Operatic sheet music
The strip pole plank scale— oomphalos elevator button
Going nowhere and everywhere
Through drizzles of consciousness
And what we have perceives as chapters of
Time is nothing more than thinly veiled
Sheath of saran wrap, Nikola Tesla’s lunch
Where everything is simultaneously occurring
And will re-incarnate again and again ad infinitum.
She masturbates to Jeopardy!!
Hummingbird arpeggio, two fingers
Bookmarked in the collected sonnets of her loins
Stating the question before the
Premier syllable of the answer is revealed
Rabelasian blindfold occluding her sight
bathing in a rococo bathtub
Brandenburg concerto chiming in the background.
--incipient mist of spring.
She knows the latitude and longitude of my body
My penis an isochronal lost terra-cotta sentry man
saluting as we make love
In the bedroom she has had since child hood
spelling and
geography bee trophies adorning
The mantle, gilded mountain ranges spiked between patches of
Rhodes scholar, Fields medals, Macarthur genius,
Pulitzer
Prizes sex,
an exchange of particles and light
Conveying to me with the subtle orchestral
Bob of her
chin that if I fuck her a certain way
She will say
something I have never heard
Her say before in Latin when she cums.
“Alat volat propriss,” Which translates as:
(she flies with her own wings)
Stating that it is the motto of the state of Oregon
Something If I was more cognizant and more well read
I would already somehow know…
Or when we are making love how gravity
Sometimes reverses itself in dyslexic applause
The fractyl of our limbs iterate in evolutionary
flap
defy the
stolid linearity of physics
Ankles and kneecaps parallax constellations
tight
algorithmic recipes, square root of our
buckled thighs launching like sputnik, skirting around
The circumference of the over head ceiling fan
In frenzied apollonian orchestration before crashing
The quantum concavity of the cosmos
Elucidated in the hush of her eyes.
coital cigarettes in tandem
puffs
the prophylactic husk of wriggled laytex laying
like a road kill glowworm
at the bottom of the bed and
how I would
look into the rosary beads
of sweat skiing down
her forehead as if having some sort of race
and I will tell her, “Baby
that that was phucking amazing!”
and she will look back at me
with a snug pout and
say, “I know, Right?”
Before whittling
away at nothing
Into the pink hieroglyphics of her cell phone
with the tips of her thumbs.
Sometimes after sex I want to tell her how astounded
I am about the
subtle vagaries
of the human experience
Tell her that mankind result of
propagating genetic residue;
a wayward strand of coiled DNA
sweat of a species
first reproducing sexually as a
severed micro-organism
bacteria split three and a half
billion years ago
on a planet that is estimated to be a
billion years older than that
a descendant of a rather apish hominid
making it's appearance a little over
seven and a half million years ago
being nourished by the nearest solar
life generating bulb, the sun,
93 million miles away,
shepherding and shaping the anatomy of
our selected
ancestral aunts and uncles into
something resembling the current reflection of my own sleep-addled countenance
just over one million years ago
I want to tell her that being born in
this time and place
realizing that you are 1 of out 56, ooo,ooo,
ooo, ooo, ooo
disparate genetic possibilities that you
turned out the way you did.
in this time and place. Realizing you
are the sole production of a night your parents’ got lucky.
Realizing that if they would have
waited a day, and hour, minutes before or nanoseconds later, you would simply
not exist at all.
Before
rhetorically asking her this is why we hate
thinking that our parents actually "did it"--it's actually an
neurological impulse for self-preservation ….and when I ask her she will say
“. …. …. “
Nothing because she is texting while updating her facebook
profile about how her inquisitive boyfriend just won’t shut up.
That her boyfriend is ranting on about a universe flooded
with an estimated over 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 different solar orbs
stationed vast distances apart in what
us humans
perceive to be the canopy of the night
sky from our cosmic nest.
Each star capable sustaining the
cultivation of planets harboring bacteria and biology's.
In a universe comprised of 85 percent dark
matter
-a universe where much more is
happening behind the stage curtain
than in front of the audience-
-a reality where the unseen, the
mystical,
yields more of a compelling force in
our day to day
activities and choices then perhaps we
can ever possibly discern.
And I will ask he what she thinks and
she will say,
“shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
…the majority of each bartered breath
joyfully and naively oblivious to the wonder of creation, to the fact that I
exist at all, that I have grown up in a usurped continent that has become the
most opulent republic ever constituted under the morning umbrella sky of the
planet. where the advances of science and technology has been UNHERALDED
in the historical discourse of this planet, on a land boat that has milked dry
the udder of natural resources of her planet still while it is in it's maiden
years. Thirty years of smiling and blinking and communicating and obeying the
laws of physics. Thirty years of love and digestion and wanting. The occasional
wished for spurts of compassion. The blissful feeling of joy and longing and
oneness.
On a planet where the majority of
animals are water creatures and insects. This human being, a corporeal hyphen etched into a future tomb stone between a jousting numerical pillars of
chronicled years.
This glorified cosmic bacteria is
capable of feeling such great things. Such unity. Such compassion. Such pain.
Such confusion And ultimately, such love.
I tell her all this while she continually looks
down. Texting
Alphabetical acronyms elle-elle-elle, Owe-em-gee,
our-oh-eff-elle
Which when pronounced phonetically resemble
The sound our
Neanderthal relatives made
One-hundred thousand years ago
When they wanted to know
Everything about the place they
Found themselves inhabiting
Opening up their lips, roaring an ache of unknowable
pain.
1 comment:
...performed as an audience participating round where the audeince caroled out the tiresome refrain, 'I know, right?' while tilting their shoulders in ariheadesque fashion @ C. West 3-31-13.....
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