Delia Tramontina
CORPUS CALLOSUM 3: HOME GROWN
Midas works his way into my bones,
like that freshman quiver; the first day, co-ed.
Leave enough room for milk.
Got a schedule to uphold.
Got a tack in my paw; how some men leave office items in the tundra.
Midas got a bone to pick the general state of jump ropes.
I never could double-dutch.
I drank the whole thing.
Yeah, he can starve with the other half-moonfaced jugular rebels making eyes at Mars.
A wink won't get you in - you've got to earn it.
Yeah Midas knew me once;
poked my skin like a morphine drip.
They say silver is cheaper at the coast.
How many words come out of Midas?
A child sits on a carpeted floor,
legs spread,
action figures in between them, shooting.
They got psychic powers to talk to large cats of prey -
please don't eat me.
Good Guys are not edible - the motion picture industry says so.
Midas is treating his yeast infection
under lock and key, on the DL,
forget it.
You'll never make the camel go through that hole
in your shorts -
when you sat down
you tore up the whole city;
communes on your skin
escaping, eating fast food for breakfast,
perfecting payment without slowing down -
watch your socket.
Level with me -
did you turn into multiple yous while frolicking around here?
Jumping, stiff-kneed like a cartoon character.
Just so many of you.
You recognize you as you read this.
Excuse me if I expose the medium here but you are reading.
Multiplying.
And Midas -
he's just some guy with a bayonet and a score to settle.
He could be multiplying too -
just add water.