Chimp

Point a finger to yourself, mirror.

****

Nothing by bone has
impressive elements except
practice. There is a yellow trick
five miles from my forehead, throws a javelin
at my throat, vanishing. I have prolonged a search
for a stinging change in color and depth,
this black predicament.
Hereafter, figure is harmony,
in hibernating snakes, the mother F of what
I evoke to evade.

New flavor of fear when
now or never is never
a cliche.
                                                                     
***

How would we know the lack
of religion behind that long curve of ants.

Clockwork mote.
The dark sun combs my hair
as I finally find the stone
which can actually make
me win the duel
I never join.

In my left hand, you're the right cigarette, mirror.

Once in a while,
I'm a moment's daredevil,
I stay on the sidewalk and extend
like a puff.

**

Perhaps warp should be
the operative
word. Don't be a root
because when you get there,
you go to another decision
where you only doubt where it's made,
not when.

I have been
sparring all thirty years
against this bathroom-spider
and I still can't predict
its next move.

Your hairy thumb is coming out of my chest, mirror.

Gnawing cards, knowing teeth.

Tactics discovered deception
which discovered a simian
reflex of synchronicity:

when squirrels notice 
human peanut pilfering, 
they start their misleading 
behavior by covering sites 
where no food had been stored

I summon a reflection not to be summoned, you.

How would I know
is what I used to think like how
it goes back whenever it gains time.
The premium accident
along the edge of a forest
where figurative eyes
beat around the bush.



*

Your in a womb somewhere, mirror.
Baby and shark, full-grown and fierce,
you eat whatever feeds you.