Luciferin

Luciferin

by Dean Young

"They won't attack us here in the Indian graveyard."

I love that moment. And I love the moment

when I climb into your warm you-smelling

bed-dent after you've risen. And sunflowers,

once a whole field and I almost crashed,

the next year all pumpkins! Crop rotation,

I love you. Dividing words between syl-

lables! Dachshunds! What am I but the inter-

section of these loves? I spend 35 dollars on a CD

of some guy with 15 different guitars in his shack

with lots of tape delays and loops, a good buy!

Mexican animal crackers! But only to be identified

by what you love is a malformation just as

embryonic chickens grow very strange in zero

gravity. I hate those experiments on animals,

varnished bats, blinded rabbits, cows

with windows in their flanks but obviously

I'm fascinated. Perhaps it was my early exposure

to Frankenstein. I love Frankenstein! Arrgh,

he replies to everything, fire particularly

sets him off, something the villagers quickly

pick up. Fucking villagers. All their shouting's

making conversation impossible and now

there's grit in my lettuce which I hate

but kinda like in clams as one bespeaks

poor hygiene and the other the sea.

I hate what we're doing to the sea,

dragging huge chains across the bottom,

bleaching reefs. Either you're a rubber/

gasoline salesman or like me, you'd like

to duct tape the vice president's mouth

to the exhaust pipe of an SUV and I hate

feeling like that. I would rather concentrate

on the rapidity of your ideograms, how

only a biochemical or two keeps me

from becoming the world's biggest lightning bug.