Fists are already making their way
across the transcontinental divide

are in the process of learning
how to use sonar

still haven’t read
about inferior colliculus

but are improving recipes
for bundt cake

while stealing your ex–wives
from their dreams
about getting back with you

are salting
the salt mines

the diamond mines

are twirling batons
in the fascist parade

are wondering when, where

and why

while you sleep until noon and scramble
to find the matching sock

there are no matching socks

the fists have taken them

more accurately,
they’ve taken one of each pair

have hidden them deep underground
where they’re stocking

a tornado cellar
to make you swoon