a sonnet

The greatest contribution a man
Can make to this world
Is to die young fat naked
In the woods
That was always the purpose
Of every living creature
To walk these nutrients around a while
So they wouldn’t spoil in the sun
To wolf down the asparagus
And the aardvark
And lap at yr mitten
Of venom and honey
And then to die
Feed the forest of wasps
On that dumb tasty cake
A horse will chew yr hair off like it’s grass
A bear will take yr arm to a cave
It’ll be waving to every animal
In the forest from its mouth claw
Hey more cadaver bacon by the rocks
A crow will snatch the coins
From yr eyes greedy crow
Maybe he stole yr eyelids
Every still smelly body the animals see
They throw a party
Yr girlfriend she will be a little sad or fainting
But everyone else will be at this party
Chowing down
Yr corpse is like a Sadie Hawkins to them
A monkey picks yr penis up off the floor
Touches it to the face
Of some buddy that’s passed out
Everybody has a good laugh
I think that is why every person
In their 30s is being assholes
They forgot they already
Were supposed to be dead
Somewhere we decided
We weren’t supposed to die
Only the idea of immortality
Is what separates us
From orange tree to orangutan
Thinly separates us
No other creature takes a brief opportunity
At consciousness for granted but people
You ever think a goat went around
Kicking a chair
Which for them a chair is the dirt
Kicking it just because somebody else
Probably a donkey didn’t love it back
O unattainable donkey
Bewitching donkey
I would not suffer yr tender wiles
Feel that sun shining on yr horn
See those peapods bursting in yr
Weird creepy fish eyes
Here eat this tin can
Were you looking for a sonnet
This is not a sonnet
Why you are fat I don’t care
Just do it
Why you are naked in the woods
I don’t care just do it
I don’t wish you get drugged or violated
I only hope you die I only hope
You really are becoming
The greatest



everything depends on this**

You will only have one chance to fool the donkey
To do this
You must become very donkey

You must act the role of the donkey
Better than the donkey
Will be able to perform itself

You must not receive the slightest pleasure
In playing the donkey to perfection
The most remote hint of pleasure

And the donkey will be alerted
You will only have one chance to fool the donkey
Every evening you must sacrifice more of yourself

You cannot expect to keep yourself
As you spend all your days
Becoming donkey

It is only as the donkey slips
Out of his suit
An hour maybe two

To deodorize
To whack debris loose
And ventilate its pink meat

A chance exists
To reach a stinkier more essential donkey
Even the donkey will not understand

How to embody
You cannot do it just any old way
You cannot pretend there might exist an audience

Who receives pleasure
From you getting into a character
You must do all this with real genuine feeling

To practice donkey you must insist
You must believe past insistence
You are not actually practicing anything

You must eat with the mouth of the donkey
You must be aroused
By the constellation of the donkey’s arousal

You must dress in the style of the donkey
But as you fumigate less each month each year
Style must transfigure into skin

Everything depends on this
When you confront the donkey
The donkey will bear no grounds to deny

You indeed are supremely donkey
You will only have one chance
To convince the donkey you are teacher

And the donkey is somehow student
You must forget the intent
Of becoming the donkey’s teacher

The intent was always the amnesia itself
The black amnesias of heaven

You must take care of the donkey
Better than the donkey could love itself

You must mourn the donkey
You will not be able to fool yourself here

Everything depends on this



years of drinking blood and nipping at the cud of flowers***

Nicki Minaj told me
He toss my salad / Like his name Romaine
All week I have been bewildered
Filling chalkboards up with formulas
What could she really mean??
Leafing through the birth records
I found his name sounded nothing like Romaine
But sounded instead like Gerard
No let me revise
His name was spelled Gerard
So only by channeling his enthusiasm
His timing and delivery
Tossing the anal clam meats of her salad
Could gravity + atmosphere compress language
So Gerard resembled Romaine
I know this should be simple but somehow
It is taking me so much time
Because Romaine is also a key ingredient of salads
Did I just blow both our minds??
No longer is this a discussion of pleasure
But also of ontological existence
We give pleasure to something
A salad for example
And upon giving the greatest thing
We have we reach higher leafier states
Our bodies transmogrify
Like the blue-bleached wings of moths
Filling all up with blood
And becoming butterflies
Yes that is where butterflies come from
Years of drinking blood and
Nipping at the cud of flowers
The dusty nocturnal talcum coat turning to gold
I knew this would go deeper than licking a hole
Nicki texted me to say tossing salad is licking a hole
And technique is vigor + how many fathoms DEEP
But a hole is the absence of being
Can something not present be licked??
Can a ghost be licked??
Or even a vagina??
Of course not
I have never seen it
Even the speaker did not see
How far her words could take us
Imagine licking the absence of a person so good
Your body transformed
Into an ingredient living inside of a simile
The key to transcendence was never to receive
It was always to give
And that is what life becomes
Pursuing the thing that transforms us
Holy fuck a moly all this wisdom
I don’t want you ever to fear
You will know when you are in the presence of your salad
It’s possible it won’t be salad
It could be quiche
Or like some balls or something
God I learned so much about life
It is all connected
Moths, ghosts, Nicki
I try to write her a poem
But every word seems further evidence of failure
And I only end up figuring out life


* The pieces here are dedicated to the poets Sandra and Ben Doller.

** “everything depends on this” borrows language from the article “The Donkey Will Know: Remembering Leonard Michaels” by Clifton Baron, published in The New Yorker on May 10, 2013. The phrase “the black amnesias of heaven” is borrowed from “The Night Dances” by Sylvia Plath.

*** “years of drinking blood and nipping at the cud of flowers” borrows language from “Anaconda” from the album The Pink Print by Nicki Minaj


KiikAK-biopic-bwKiik A.K. earned a MA from UC Davis where his poetics thesis was titled The Joy of Human Sacrifice and a MFA from UC San Diego where his collection of counter-internment narratives was titled Everyday Colonialism. He also holds degrees from UC Berkeley and Santa Clara University. He is currently at work on a book of poems titled Hogg Book. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in iO, Washington Square, Action Yes, CutBank and Alice Blue Review.