David Sewell

Typo on Your Beetle Map

Nor are your calisthenics spangled
to a degree that I would consider
adopting them as my everything.
I have refused each offer
of translucence the parts of you
that can talk have blubbered past. Your
beetles I laughed over,
a beetle falling out of my mouth,
beetles floating down a river
of hippopotamuses. The mongrel
lever-puller said something
I couldn't understand. Meanwhile,
your hands were interpreting a song
you claimed to be singing that was just
some dogs barking at rats. I'd prefer
a Nehru jacket to renting
a compact sedan and visiting
a pancake and waffle establishment.
I could punctuate a mule.
I wouldn't punctuate you.