Hot Dog Poem

Hot dog: this is a series of sketches I still don't know what to do with

1

   Eating a hot dog with no underwear on: lots of little tongues
            coming off my tongue with  little tongues coming off of the tongues of their tongues,

            tongue-tied round hot dogs coming off my hot dog. 

“I ate a hot dog and then I sat on it," I said with one end of a hot dog in my ear 
            and one end in my  mouth.

Meanwhile, empirically,  hypotheses bely on the one hand
             two-bun-one-hot dog-nihilism, and on the other hand,
             two-hot dog-one bun idealism (practically mysticism),

So all-in-one I have found that the hot dog is one and the one

                            in my mouth wrapped in my tongue. Full of ideas,
                            my mouth. 

2

Hotly anticipated, the hot dog emerges

in a bun, my skin burning with

burning questions but last night, I discovered

that all this time, I have been IM-ing with a hot dog

“I didn’t realize that you were a hot dog.”

“This is a mistake.”

Hot dog: I keep forgetting that you’re a hot dog.

Tongue: Stop playing these games with me.

I closed my eyes, but it was all still there,

on the other side of the screen, a screen for

what?, my screen name—one side my eyes shut—

a hot dog sitting there with no underwear on

Why are you doing this?

I am echoing your sentiments, I am a hot dog

Heartworming tales, hot dog

Hot dog, you’re cold, you give my tongue worms

Hot dog, elaborate: I keep forgetting that you are a hot dog

I hope the hot dog was wearing a condom when I sat there, gagging on ignorance and pig intestines in porridge: hot dog, elaborated

Questions:

How do you spell hot dog, hotdog or hot dog

aborted orthographies, post-abortion hot dog

post-hot dog abortion

Tensions

Hot dog: I don’t know what you’re talking about

Tongue: I don’t know what you’re talking about

I alone am a hot dog, semantics

Alone, IM-ing with a hot dog

3

The loneliness. Feats of loneliness at a feast of loneliness trudging the streets of loneliness up to my room, lonely, look at the screen, out the window only to find that I’ve been IM-ing with a hot dog

All hot dog, one solid thing, arms, thighs, cheeks, sides, and insides, in little windows lit up a building one entire block seen from above. When I close my eyes it’s all there still, little letters lit up in little letters lit up in little letters, some of little like ‘k’ ‘c’ ‘u’

Hot dog city, a body, solid, a speck in the specter of fractilization made vast in a spectrum spanning two specks in discrete locations IMing a solid, discrete, and vast conversation—

made of all these little letters like ‘k’ ‘c’ ‘u’ like little lights on the sides

of a building block of a block of a vast hot dog city with windows lit up in little letters we lit little letters discrete, specks…

bolonka :(

Nadia

and then when i lay

in bolonka's plush carpet

not woven by bolonka

but by attendants to bolonka

and felt my girth enveloped

by the fur it was supposed to

saddle, suddenly, there, bolonka

with lucid eyes approached me

through cast-off follicles, pawed

at my scapula, drew me from

my breath, and departing my

terminal body i gasped to see

my cells dancing, flax and cilia

waxing and woven

Bela

Noble bolonka,
Fit for the poor court of
Homely malaise,
Earned longeur worn long-eared, droopily, her silks 
Anointed with sprays 
Of onion in corn oil, eyes
Kohled in brown tears,
Pout bearded brown on white, her own ermine
Heroine on the crest,
She, the shield against
Cracked linoleum (stained with her Highness's self-same excreta) erected, a
Panting monument--
Blameless of shame :(

Pants

Underwater, all pants are sea pants, tight swaths of seaweed stretched over all legs. Underwater, all creatures wear pants and most fish either have legs or are legs, even the Hand Fish.

Pants can get shorter and shorter, and then they are shorts. Shortier, shortier, you're on another shore: underpants. Underpants aren't pants, just like a hole in the ground isn't a pepper. While a hat does not a head make (unlike a wig or a scarf/unless it's a helmet) underpants are a genital. In general, pants are legs.

Sea legs come from a little bone in your ear that is too used to the sea. They are really ear bone legs.

Air legs lag after jets, drawing coral.

When we land, legs grow hands and fish around for their keys. Here we are in the Keys. Underwater here, our legs can spawn leggings.

Ilya,

Have you seen the most beautiful woman?

Her bull brow, her hooved sway

her breast hover, sunward faced

grazing the grasstops, lowing

deep and far valleys around her

Downward, her gaze

soaks the flower of

grace that slowly,

for you, she masticates

poem by nekrasov

pines

and over the pines
starnes

and birches

and behind the birches
stirches

Oh Matt Tracey, that Demon Forever

this is a poem by vsevolod nekrasov

translated by me and Ainsley

sea
what sea

you can say of the sea you can say

a whole sea of sea

a full sea of sea

of the sea you can say

a real sea
a real sea

really
a sea
a sea
a sea

sea sea sea sea

real real

level

probably you can
even
talk about it like this

rather, really,
probably
you can even
see it this way

only very
rarely