Wow-Man
Up, down. Left, right. Front, back. Repeat.
The ping pong ball underneath her scalp echoes as she wonders when this game will find its calm.
In the flow of her circadian rhythms, the whistle blows as her eyelids gain weight circa 1:30 AM
But of course, there’s a boy
Who just might be a man by the end of this poem
With cravings insatiable
As his desires don’t run on a clock so her delta waves are as disappointing as the sea without vision
And then, brought to shore is the unsure, the imponderable; who crowned her the Kingless Queen, Virgin Mary, in present day parable
She needs no Angel, no God, to instill faith in her womb, to create something beautiful, no
She’ll conceive her own miracles and they’ll all be mind’s origin, fabricated across her corpus callosum
She needs no referee to regulate life’s rules
No, she holds more stripes of certification etched in the creases of her right palm
She needs no wand, no box, no tricks, no gimmicks
Because she is the magician on her own stage.
So she asks very kindly if you would just flip the page
Get past her autobiography
And descend upon her fervor
Map the geography of her mind
The nights will be long and food will be replaced by your favorite pill – adderrall or vyvance
So don’t forget sunrise
Your bloodshot eyes will sting
And as the light fades in the west
You’ll go seeking warmth perched upon your stationary bike
Like you’re,
Making progress, yet
Getting nowhere
In a demanding quest to connect the dots of her thoughts freckle by freckle
You’re almost okay with overtime
Because this game blows your mind – her mind blows your mind
TeVo that shit just so that you can rewind
The agility of her abilities is like a quadrilogy orchestrated into a one-woman symphony, rhythmically with every note and every key, except the letter D
And you’ll pick the fruit of the scarlett letter
Because she’s got the keys
In the back of her left pocket, so in your fruitless attempt to make it right
You reach down, a double entendre, to simultaneously unlock the mystery that is she
Because she is akin to 50 shades of vibrance
Pulsating, who unlike Anastasia needs no man to come and save her
No need to kneel on her knees because her retinas are sponges to all the color that she’ll please
She’ll actually have you begging at her femur for just another lick of her humor
So don’t sleep on her tonight because unlike the moon she does not wane
Though oxygen might evade you as your eyes become homes for waterfalls, bringing you closer to childhood handlebars as your stomach tightens and flexes
And just as you reach your apex, she’ll multiply 90 by 2
Not like a calculator though it will be calculated
Effortlessly.
A cosmic bubble will radiate from her lips while right above, a muted volcano erupts
Now,
Let’s get philosophical
If a tree falls in the woods and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound?
If her tongue doesn’t move fast enough for her notions, does she still orbit the universe?
Long story short: she will over-stimulate the accumbens of your nucleus, leaving your feet so sore you’ll have to purchase padded shoes
She is the underpriced, non-prescription medication,
You inhale her like angeldust, perplexed that you could liken yourself to Einstein over-the-counter
Though you can’t count on finding her because she is over the moon, in another galaxy watching over you
And here, lying next to you,
Ubiquitous.
With a glance at your watch, you notice her smile, your favorite curve, and although you’re a slender guy you can’t help but mirror her
Then, the corners of your rigid mouth and 20 toes drag out her front door, across the welcome mat, closer to the grey game you’ve pretended to call home – out of habit
And she will roll down his tinted windows
So he can finally feel the wind blow
And as the wind roleplays wheels,
It will escort him to where he should go
Before she asks
“when did ‘he’ become ‘you’?”