Torchie’s Book of Days – Poem One

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1)

Indigenes, foundlings, sperm-persons
and egg-,boycheks, suitors,
lumpen silhouettes,
ladies and gentlemen of the jury

of my peers, kith and kine, and those of you
I think might like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs,
I am here because I have this tightness

in my throat I don’t want
taking over the earth. To boot,
I chose you by divine signs amidst the multitudes.
By faint directions. By sending out some luteinizing hormones

I want to noodge you
into feeling something vast. BTW, a jury of one’s peers:
nowhere in the Constitution.

But it’s a free country. So feel free
to interrupt. Already
I can tell by your jawline’s ease
you’ll help sway me

to be true about all things
from how to scour the consciousness of humankind
to why I cannot bring myself

to leave my house some days. And don’t you adore
how Rachel Maddow’s most repeated word
this year’s vagina? And that giant uterus sprawled across the weather map:
we might get there. Meanwhile, let us try new tacks

for striving to get by—perhaps let soften
our trapezii or reconstruct others’
inner soliloquies. I am

here now to announce
the coronal mass ejections

sent on Tuesday, projected to impact
Earth and Mars as well as several interplanetary spacecraft,

along with upcoming elections and think-tank reports
issuized in umpteen rags, could cause problems
with our message systems. Our transfer

of ideas. I’m here because of that.
Because your shirt
is pilling

let me pluck across your back.