Sparking oil puddle:
a frog hops in
Bzzzzt! Splocht!

If I weren’t ‘fraid o’ hidden poop,

I’d roll in the grass all afternoon.

Esta mañana soñé que yo estaba en escuela secundaria otra vez,

excepto esta vez yo era al parecer tonto

y ni siquiera reconocía la palabra español «zebo»,

que aunque, ser justo, luego, cuando me desperté,

le busqué en mí diccionario de español

y no lo encontré en ninguna parte,

¡así es claro que es bastante rara!

This morn I dreamt I was in high school ‘gain,

‘cept this time I was apparently a dumb ass

& didn’t e’en recognize the Spanish word “zebo”

—though, to be fair, later, when I woke,

I searched for it in my Spanish dictionary

& couldn’t find it anywhere,

so it’s clearly quite rare.

If you run too fast,
you’ll miss the puddles.

¡Sí, lo hice!

Fufufufufu…

Voy a cortar mi propia cuerda;

voy a dejar que pasar hambre el celular;

voy a olvidarme poner leche en el café;

voy a quedarme mientras los cereales se vuelven empapados;

voy a comerme la mano,

y el sabor será picante también;

voy a quemar todas de las naves;

voy a saltar antes de mirar;

voy a comer inmediatamente antes de nadar.

Y no puedes pararme.

No puede nadie.

Fufufufufu…

I’m going to cut my own rope;

I’m going to let my cell phone starve;

I’m going to forget to put milk in my coffee;

I’m going to just sit still while my cereal becomes soggy;

I’m going to eat my whole hand

–& it’ll taste spicy, too;

I’m going to burn my own bridges;

I’m going to leap ‘fore looking;

I’m going to eat immediately before swimming.

& you can’t stop me.

Nobody can.

Ya he olvido lo que quería decir.

Oh, bien…

Soy cierto que no era importante.

Puedes olvidarlo, por favor.

I’ve already forgotten what I wanted to say.

Oh well…

I’m sure it wasn’t important.

You can just forget ’bout it, please.

I can’t even count how many objects you so hawk

From your gaping maw with stains of nameless substances.

How your papers darken with forgotten liquids; bruised

Apple cores turn brown & yellow, swarmed with plump li’l flies.

Still I smell that odor sharp like needles splashed in piss;

Still I feel the stickiness that never shall subside,

Like the ghost of cream that streams out from a phallus cocked.

I desire to roll in you all day, pristine refuse,

For it is in you I know I truly should reside.

You’ve had your fun:
now it’s time to put the Play-Doh^® back into its cup.

New Year’s snow—
frost sticks to wooden limbs
on my laptop wallpaper.