By Zosia Mosur
(with a nod to Franny Choi)
soup in peas of superb sleaze assuring
soup or nova past aroma allure.
jasmine boots of jazz who shoots at Blue Jay,
above the bridge-lit lamp. eat as if they
are an apple: persimmon, onion, o-
range of you my strange bugbug bugifore.
lard ghee marge her in-to a mist accord,
harp on a sharpie whiff, smack harpsichord.
maw, naw, law, oh lawdie law’d, oh my god-
frosty land of cats and cod, toe of tod
young tongued dog. mouth-of-hog; yuck! get on out!
upturned snout laughs about pharoah’s frantic
mask-you-linity! whereth areth you-
eth crathy how thith poem endth with-
Despite all attempts at converting her through absolutely illegal and totally heinous procedures, Zosia Mosur remains a poet.