Their gears are so smooth, you want
to watch them clutch and shift
through a window implanted into their skull.

These fat cows of so much thinking.

At parties you’ll find them slobbering
into random cleavage, taking pains
to hide their gifts. Other times
they’re so serious you want to scream,
“Fuck you and your blue hair,
go eat a hamburger!”

Of course they’re men.

True geniuses can see through poetry.
They’re comfortable being
of at least two minds, one of them
counting the vowels in Tuscaloosa,
the other watching the small