UNTITLED

boats and ships
are headed your way
across five oceans to
remind you of carpets

and tiles and those
surfaces that feel smooth
like a babys ass
just weeks after labor

they sail to show you
that its really out
there, mixed in with all that
Technicolor and African bush

only lonely Laundromats
and waiting lines at the DMV
know how cotton feels
when you meditate on it

how much would you
shell out of pocket
to taste the air that flows
under armpits and between thighs

I could take a wild
guess but I wouldn’t
want to insult you or
your perspective on wine

sometimes chaos feels
like a fucking rainstorm
but other times like just
throwing your head back

and feeling silence
rush over your eyelids
and cheekbones
and tufts of hair

TIA (this is Africa), as
they say and
this is everything
but parents and pets

what fucking hemisphere
am I in or is this
a sick fucking joke. have
I arrived squeezed in the middle

smack dab in the
goddamn middle
between lace and bounty
just how you like it

with peppadew and mushroom
and love but
just because you’re American
and voted for Bush

you didn’t invent sarcasm
just thought you could
perfect it by the
beam of a flashlight

shut the fuck up
its really that easy to
chug a drink
and get down with yo bad self

how long did it take
to know this as truth
whatever the hell that
means to you, in Iowa

or Connecticut or another
obscure ass place that
commands unmerited attention
because they struck gold

will you pack me into
the front pockets of your
suitcase, I won’t cry
if the zipper catches me

I promise.

- Jane Shim UPenn 11'