Your trapezoidal face, like Townes van Zandt’s,
makes my pulse race more than the razzmatazz
of Times Square, makes my p- and t-waves dance
more than a jailbreak out of Alcatraz.
Look how my EKG goes crazy now;
look how my EEG goes mad, synapses
zapping and zigzagging everywhere—wow!
I’m wakeful as a raft about to capsize
but oh-so-happy. Cap my Trazodone,
please. Zip up my zapatas, please. Let’s seize
tonight’s flight to Tasmania’s time zone.
When strapped onto the TNT trapeze
of love, we’ll tell our pals, “Ta-ta! That’s that!”
and tap-dance off into the ratatat.