by Polly Conway
Author’s note: The poems in this series were created using found language from spam emails.
My brainchildren scrounge
for any little delegable task;
La-di-da, the circumference of Cleveland.
No place is axisymmetric.
Who wants to cope with a non-dairy eater?
God, they’re bored.
It translates to this: me eating
casserole in the bedroom again—
Beside the bookend lies
a hardcopy of my stupefaction: Exam question: What made Bonaparte berserk?
We are in the same bind.
God gave us agriculture, Gideons gave Bibles, Mom gave me a cheese grater.
Bolometers measure radiant energy:
I swear, I’ll sparkle like actinium.
I’m a chorine at heart, my bilabial pout in an angel-o.
Radiant energy pours from my mouth—how do I measure it?