And since we're out here in the desert,
I would like to read a few ant poems I wrote in the desert.
This one is called "Desert Ant".
"Desert ant says 'and' with every step.
So that it sounds like this--
and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and,
and, and--
and so on.
By the time I make my way to the same desert,
I have been collecting and carrying
an accumulation of nouns over the past-- oh, I
don't know how many days.
And so I insert them in between the steps of the ant.
Cilantro, tennis, phone, hand, needle, rock, hair, Mingus,
monk, mouth--
I have been ignoring the dirty looks the ant keeps giving me.
But finally, I cave in, which means
I stop to listen carefully.
I am informed that I have thrown off
the rhythm of "and, and, and, and, and."
I am informed that this shall not continue.
I am given several options.
I choose "monk".
So for a while we do, monk and monk and monk and monk and monk
and monk and monk.
I thought we were doing OK, but before I know it,
the ant is out of sight.
And then before I know it, the ant has made a decision.
And then before I know it, the ant is in my mouth
and mouth and mouth and mouth and mouth and mouth and mouth."