under the philosophers' stones

in a black zip hoodie
peppermint trumps bubblegum & takes the nxt
ferris wheel to heaven.
                       (i hear you clucking your tongue from
                        way up there in your poet-tree)
 
angel in the sand. satan
in snowshoes. hand in hand.
right there under your arm.                    shrugging off a river
                                                              shruggin into a photograph
of girls in bikinis & blue satin sashes
swaying their asses & batting eyelashes
 
at all the philosophers
sitting around & scratching their stones,
peeking up the virgin's robe
at the ascension,                       where they spy

walmart shoppers & those
control-top panty-hose fading into phosphorescent
 
legs & nuclear arms shrugging into cardigan sweaters
(i'd shrug, but you've got the shoulders)
 
so here's to orchids without orgasms.
yeah, here's to living
 
exceptionally long shelf-lives
where none of the gynoholics in the penis club
                                 are ever gonna menstruate
& all the angels in the snow won't
                                 ever make this apple tree fly

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