Was the Big Bang only about sex? A generic

mistake, a tremor due to other tremors? Oh,

captain, you wouldn’t like to swim in the scalding

basin of this poem, and having entered

its harbor, you wouldn’t go to bed with any

girl lurking for you in its slimy

alleys. Let the choir confirm

the energetic audit: here a clock

has no hands. A snake has a hand

instead of a head, but it curls up in a ball.

Girls of fatal proportions

throw those balls from heights into the night.