i am going to kiss you

I do not like people who say o I am eating 

An onion o I am eating vinegar things

Now nobody will kiss me 

I say shut up your stupid face Maria

Or stop talking the words of a moron Rachel

Your brain of the moron obviously

Has no clue what it yaps upon

Bring your stupid lips close to mine

I am going to kiss you

It does not matter if your blue

Dog lips are stinky with bacon or if

Your pig lips are sweaty with black garlic 

I am going to kiss you I am going to

Kiss with open heart

And all my six open mouths

And my tongue will be doing the dolphin

And I don’t care if you were eating

Dolphin tuna out of a warm trash can

I am going to kiss you hard

Mushing the hot durian of your face

Into my genius face intelligent

With a default setting of always

Yes to kiss it yes kissing it

dream

My friend Semmy sat upon a horse. The horse had – no cleaner way to say this – the largest erection I’d ever seen. It seemed Semmy hadn’t spotted it yet. Should I say something? Because if they were about to shoot off – to gallop – and it seemed they were – might the erection lead to accident or injury? The horse was making a lot of excited noises and jerking at some dark bread in Sem’s hand. Sem’s other hand was waving a crop as though rousing an orchestra. For all I knew people rode horseys with groners all the time. Maybe it was even necessary for riding? What did I know of life at the country club? I didn’t want to seem rude, but I also had gruesome visions of horse’s legs and horse’s radish becoming tangled. And Sem getting thrown, rolled over upon, maybe even penetrated down in the clover. I decided I should say something. I said, Sem, is it normal for your horse to have a big one on your ride? Sem looked up blankly. Big what? he said. A big, large horsewood, I said. A horshish middlewood. O! Sem said. He lightly slapped his cheek with the tip of his riding crop. That’s rock horse. You know rock horse? I shrugged. It’s normal both rocking horse and rockback rider be hard as statues, Sem said. Back and forth. Butt and forks. A clover on all fours. You know right? I felt relieved I’d said something. I’m glad you said something, he said. You know, he said, sometimes, in the anger of battle, race car drivers will come all over themselves. O! I said. I think I read about that in Harper’s. I definitely hadn’t. I just didn’t want to sound judgmental. Yup, he said. The crab poison. All over themselves. I hoped Sem would ask me to fire the starter pistol tucked in his boot. But he didn’t. He stared ahead into the copse of tall grim trees. Then he said, I wonder which one of our friends will lose all their hair first.

---

Kiik Araki-Kawaguchi is the author of Disintegration Made Plain and Easy (Piżama Press) and The Book of Kane and Margaret (Fiction Collective Two / UAP).