Let’s make suicides
in the Taco Bell soda station.
Let’s blast off airsoft
guns at your LARPy neighbors.
No one will ever know
how often I pretend
I am a martial artist
a lonepoke old prospector
and a spy for the NSA
in your phones
through your cameras.
I’m seeing that tattoo
of a semicolon on your wrist.
You won’t tell me what it means,
but I’m just excited
punctuation’s getting its shine….
Your lazy ells, your imploded
tees, all unvoiced. In a puzzle map
meant for learning, I shoot you
with the state of Oklahoma. I’ve
said it before I’ll say it again:
the two of us are vowels together
we’re oeuvre and ovoid
yeet and yaw. Giant Os together
maybe standing zeroes—
blackhats on our first day, taking
out the number one. I’ve palmed
the bawl. You’ve slowed to a crawl.
But you were like an aardvark, always
first, and I can almost still see the
saloon doors swinging.