By Ronald Koertge

At first the women think he’s funny. A breath of fresh air
compared to the hogwash peddlers with their walks on the beach.
They tease him about being a mad scientist. They ask for sexy pics
of him in nothing but a lab coat. They text LOL when he says his
goldfish Finny disappeared swimming in [Cr(NH3)6](3+)[Cl(1–)]3,
H(1+)[AuCl4! When he wonders if the formula will work on
humans, they add Rolling on the Floor Laughing emojis.
Disgusted, he’s about to delete his account when out of nowhere
Hotasabunsenburner responds with a suggestion about
C24H30N203. A few feverish hours in his basement and Success!
He replies immediately. Great minds should meet! Boards a bus
for free. Makes a bank teller faint when fifties float from the cash
drawer. Then at Le Club there’s that small booth she told him
about and — his heart is pounding now — a coffee cup rising on
its own, smear of scarlet lipstick on the rim.

By Ronald Koertge

A hundred of my closest friends and I are working
on Earth Day. Shopping carts, Big Gulp cups,
tons of plastic, more than one mattress.

I’ve got graffiti duty. Gloves, safety glasses,
TSP in a five gallon bucket.

All over the walls of the L.A. River:

MICKEY LOVES SYLVIA.

“Love is Strange” plays in my head,
the great Mickey & Sylvia hit from the 50s.
Come here, lover boy.

They’re gone now, but this new kid has stepped
up to tell the world

about spray can love, clean sheets love, blast
furnace love under a swollen moon.

Mickey out here at night. Scrawling a valentine
Sylvia can’t help but see on her way to school.

No matter how hard I scrub, the letters show
a little. They’ll be here after Sylvia graduates,
after Mickey goes in the Army or doesn’t.

After they forget each other and a couple
in a red canoe enjoy the refurbished river,

him with a paddle, her thinking of last night,
one hand trailing in the cool water.

By Stephen Bett

Li•ddle surfer, li•ddle one
Made my heart come all Undone

(Sailor’s gurl, heart’s a twURL)

Teeny–tiny itsy dot fitter–upper
reeled in, bought you by Rreal men
(In my Woody them’s would take you . . . )

Diss ol’ Miss O’ Ginny RE•verse flipped
chic–o–layin’ cutie pie voice print
all over our gooey screens

Do you wuv me, do you wi’dul star–twick one?
(jes’ me & mah Woody)

’N don’ go DISappearing in the gap
there’s have all Rreal womyn gone

Whoa, oh, mercy mercy me
things aint what they used to be . . .

On stage now #FiveSeconds Get•It & Forget•It
please identi•size Rupi Kaur
for Po•it Laur•E•ate
(made 30 mil las’ year!)

Infra–Mincing our way to you,
dear insta read’R . . .

Lie–la–lie
Lie–la–lie–lie–lie–lie–lie, lie–lie–lie–lie–lie
Lie–la–lie–lie–lie–lie–lie
Lie–la–lie
Lie–la–lie–lie–lie–lie–lie, lie–lie–lie–lie–lie*

*Beach Boys, “Surfer Girl”; Paul Simon, “The Boxer”; Marvin Gaye, “Mercy Mercy Me”; as good an estimation of these ‘identity excl’ Instagram poets as I can see (& time–honoured too): ‘“stop deceiving the uneducated crowd / with empty sweetness’ (Metamorphoses 5.308–9) / aesthetically superficial / ethically dishonest” — Joe Safdie, Scholarship, p. 44

By Stephen Bett

I said see, C.C. Rider
Oh, see what you have done

You slipped ma’ disc, sailor grrl
Chopper Couture din’t stand a chance

Well now see, see see rider
. . . SEE what you have done

thIN diff: dis ultra–tiny–tinny fit
you DISappeared, gap in the hall a’ . . .
holla!

I said see, see see rider (see, see rider)
see what you done done

Doubly (& parenthetically) minced
coma zone–out in my comma

Très infrathin of infra–thin & infra thin
the ol’ miRRor image RE–flect E–ffect overload

So whose fleet feet turns the page
tha’s extreme tenuity (ThieRRy Davila)

published Dec 17, 2010, at 11:22 am
updated Dec 17, 2010, at 11:22 am

Same Diff times t’ree — w/in da minute
one & one & two & two

Inhabit every in ter val (a hey hey)
C. — gap — C. at sea, oh see here sailor grrl

You are that dancin’ sound

Slippered outta dat vis U al hegemony
some différance, n’est pas?

The hear of her•e•sy
what you just Undone

Yas hear don’t see it
Surfer•Grrl*

*Mitch Ryder & the Detroit Wheels’ version of “See See Rider” (aka “C.C. Rider”); C.C., as in Chopper Couture (chopper apparel, huh?); several commentators on Marcel Duchamp’s infrathin or inframince concept, easily googled — among them: quoting Thierry Davila, curator of the Museum of Modem & Contemporary Art (Geneva); David Zerbib’s review of Davila’s book Infrathin: Bref histoire de I’imperceptible, de Marcel Duchamp . . . (published & updated within the minute, note); Paul Matisse (step–son of Duchamp, & grandson of Henry Matisse, collected & published Duchamp’s notes under the title Inframince: “inframince [is] the very lastness of things . . . [the] frail and final minimum before reality disappears”