Fallow are my gonads,
Grey-brown tufted like hollowed-out coconuts,
Eviscerated ovoids, once bouncing
Like happy-face cartoons
That amused me in youth,
Now missing and somewhere shrunk,
Baked, bleached dates left in Hawaii’s noon.
Alack, frisky cozeners of my dirge-file,
You’ll get the rump-line cut, the overwritten
Second drafts of imperishable quicksilver.
Interned in the savage internet,
Self-badinage in a room of mirrors
Satirically aping theatrical gestures,
Head-nodding senility, I tire
Of building crowns in the sand,
And retire to a better Goodyear
In this trackless outpost,
The wind lashing my evicted scrotum
Which sways like the severed ropes
Of a repeller’s equipment
On the one sheer rockface to God.