Assume the Position

---after Steven Shainberg's Secretary

Permission to suture.
Permission to scissor you
a valentine, cuticles.
Unveil. I fit well

under your desk in a purple
raincoat, surrendering
bandaids. Moving
or not. At your
servelette. You are all

hands and cock-
roach on a treadmill
ready to allow. Me in
aliform, punctuation.
Whip and wing.

There are worms in your
file-a-fax that mean
contusion, mean I'll hum you
like an aviator. I am forever mis-
spelling your name, thumbtack
to thigh. Waiting
for red.

Let's spanksex, cruxfuck. Pick
a safe word like ballerina, like
vibratto. I am back-

saddled in control-top
tights typing everything
in declarative sentences,
stapling memorandums
while bent at the waist-
band. Hoping
for milk.

You'd like to check my skirt
for tics, watch me lick
manila. A syringe-prick
to the orchid.

I am your secretary
in the soil.

The only parts I
lick are silver and
                         and that's only because
                         I know you'll watch me
                         do it.

Badass Ninja Chick Assassin Fight Choreography Video

Throw on your best flame retardant materials,
your most sensible taupe. There is a time
for mint juleps and jazz hands
around firecrackers. Another time
for access. The action-axe.

Think you can spin-kick
an airborne watermelon while
tethered to a utility pole?
How are you in situations
that involve a combination
of pipebombs and Bengal tigers?

The convent is overrun
with violins and virginalia.
I made a wish for you once
but there isn't a willing mortician
in sight for miles. No laser-light show,
no one to call you Miss Alabama
Cocktease while christening
an oil rig in your honor.

Stand up and scrap
words, Buttermiss.
Let's have a marriage
of minefields and

There's something to be said about
manic fist-full choreography, bonfires
and bloodletting blondes. I'm giving you
the minus sign - let's kick the slap
out of each other.