I.

Wake up in the morning feelin like P-Diddy

And, lo!

Upon the freshly shaven crest

Before the dawn of time, sublime

Contained in corpulent succulence behest

Shakira's voice sings sweetly as the

Marx brothers perform the Daily News through

analog static

II.

Rotten mashed potatoes are still rotten

And they rest on the seventh day as in Matrix marathons

and on, and on, and on while--

Credence

O, the radical contingency of the moment

that ought to have been long ago

Your face and scarf on the wind beach

And

Poof-- like fresh milk one day gone horribly

sour the next morning

III.

O, Aiko, like a summer plum

Juice of sweet divinity,

Unto you I pour my daily hum

as dandy from a vine.

Your skin so soft as fleeting dew

your belly a moon-pie of pillowy glee