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.