Sharon Mesmer

 

 

One Girl's Lemur Plan

 

Not in vain did I watch the rising and setting of the lemurs
with wildcrafting vampires in Mila Kunis's mobile home on Jupiter.

No, not in vain did I imagine hot Neil Diamond defacing my icebox
while eerily declaring his bodiless "I" a bright acrobat flying between

a forked-tongue rictus and a supplicant's titmouse.

So howdy pussy in ignominious disco pants!  And your skinny
ex-hippie "dad" smelling like a drawer of high entropy jew 'fros.

Your burdens of personal urgency are the only things inhibiting
my yearning for gobsmacked poetaster Jesus rediscovering lemurs

in the midst of a very public picketing.  But never mind.

The sunset is pouring golden lemurs along the fire escapes
rendering death's revelatory circuits into humble gifts from the future.

These are the ways of lemurs who display the sacred opportunities
inherent in garbage: the vulnerability of glorification is the
 
untold mystery always unfolding against understanding.
That's my plan and I'm sticking with it.

 

 


You're A Buttfaced Joni Mitchell

for Jenna Briedlis

 

Hey there, Doggie! You has a funny bunny buttface
and a dark cloud above you—you're a
modern day Joni Mitchell Klingon Supernova,

not even approaching Stevie Nicks v.2, late Janis,
or anytime Rihanna—'cause while Taylor Swift is
just some lipstick, Joni is the lezbohemian mascot

of Canada, dirty for dirty.  Um, wait—
forget Canada!  You are such a totally born-dead
Emily "I Live on Dread" Dickinson anxiety exhibit

that Orrin Hatch found shit flies on your qwerty . . .
and then Paul Bunyan killed and ate them, apropos
giant stag monster Joni, all "canon" and "classic"

and "buttfaced."

Are you messing with Joni at daycare again?
I will be calling anyone who messes with Joni at
daycare "Buttface McBallnuts" from now on,

'cause what do you think this is, a "Wonder Years"
transcript written by the alternate tunings of
Breakfast Barney's (Pat Metheny's) sign-off prayer?

On the other hand, how much do I LOVE that you
think Ween's chick factor is just some secret banjo
crap? But how much do I HATE when Li'l Jewish

Anxiety, lame trippin' booty hero, meets Dead Joni Society
at the petting zoo?  But how much do I LOVE
that this is the best season of Wong Fu weekends

in Not-Fuckin-Canada ever?!

 

 

 

I've Got My Shiny Kitten

for Yun Peng

 

Hell yeah I'm skinny.
My body is COVERED in skin!
But I've got my shiny kitten
and I am not the same person I used to be.
I was Asian before Jeremy Lin.

Shopping naked with my shiny kitten
is like finding out that Beyoncé is experiencing
a powerful yearning to cram my gullet full of
Richard Nixon's head.
As you can plainly see,
I finally got my shiny new Frightened Cloned Care Bear
to dock with Skinny War Kitten.

And—Ooh! Attention Deficit Trope!
A toy machine, a cat, the "melon-head" issue,
another cat,
and a panda-cat named Rocket
who sings directly into an alchemist's chest.
Do physical objects act as stand-ins
when informational things are hard to come by?
Probably.
But that's because shiny kitten's hairballs
keep calling me a hypocrite.

So I've got my shiny kitten.
I've also got 18 shiny butcher knifes
18 silver shrimp forks
18 slime-covered linoleum swords
25 Yeti meat staves.
Did any of that help me when I lost five close buddies
and half my ass
to my goddamn shiny kitten?
Nope.

Getting kneecapped by shiny kitten:
Boom! Coconut Effect! Fake Scottish Accent!
Winter is fluffy and white from solstice to equinox,
and so is shiny kitten
which makes this something of a Chunky Salsa Rule
in the context of a Zombie Apocalypse
caused by Kraut Osmosis.

Until I got kneecapped, I could read an entire library
in under 2 hours.
And that's why I'm now seriously considering
kneecapping shiny-ass kitten.
It's kitten hittin' time, yo.