here here here is baby way too mired
in rubber rings and leftist leanings: meaning
she’s rolling over now. A little gyre
of hands and legs and head proceeding
fitfully into history. Spitfully.
It’s writ on the rags of overwashed elephants
and throwaway pinks and the bunny infantry
(could I) would I curb this development?
the images of pluto are loading …
slowly. It is what it is. Is what
it already was, planet or no, floating
into my life long enough
to let fly a little fart of knowledge,
let live this remote heart I fledged.