next time we meet 

let’s keep our clothes on

what am I the Dalai Lama

if they’ll cheat on someone else for you

they’ll cheat on you for someone else

we are the animals that paint themselves 

polyrhythmic manifestations

a conjurer came to town

mustached

collecting the rubbings of my eraser

imagine the inorganic 

mineral elements forming new rumors

but where is dystopia anymore

with a surplus of choices

desire or narcotics

even if you’re dead it’ll 

still kill you

just watch the horizon line

so you won’t get sick 

at sea

I dreamt of animal-made art 

Cézanne was fond of

crested macaques

and of a place where 

merely painting horses meant power