My Content
K. Silem Mohammad

My Amphibious Vehicle

Algebra seemed easier in just plain hovels—there
were no sentences in it.
("I wandered by my trough
while human eyes delivered fictive gowns.")
Some honeypies explained why they gallop to free
diamonds from their illusory shells
of retail value, why
it is not entirely up
to the band of citizens to procure
the elegant figures of stags
in flight they hold so dear.

Some hunks and some chicks were here,
sporting all sorts of shorts
and sportshirts of all sorts,
then they disappeared. Recognition is a skin game.
Someone better cathect me, deny me light meals.
Imprison me as they would a swarthy vintner,
so lucid.

Get reparations, the know-how to bargain. Assist
outpatients. Get a med'cinable array. It likes
to party 'cos it likes to be barely aware,
it likes a loose-knit consulate willing to supply
a receipt for sailing into the fat valley
again, that lunatic slope. You will never defect
or belong to that quotient of sots.

Ratify. Disintegrate or paralyze in these matters.
Dart softly south of your conviction, pan
in arcs about the fanes
if you think it must
amount to overdraft.
Praise seeming artistry, duped by allegiance.
Climb in full scale over Pangaia.
Somehow improve me, religious firebrands.