i love epigenetics

Methylation

Come, thrum the humdrum
from the hammock. Monologue
viscosity from the sky—
a fleece of pollution spun
from fishscale cirrus, sliced
like prosciutto by the blinds.
Graze the range of spectroscopy
with me, nanometers unlisted
at the tilt of an isomer. Quick,
before I fold Chris’s laundry,
wrinkled and unraveling
with Thursday’s acetylation.
Folate the wheat and drink up
on the sundeck, restraint spat
like melon seeds over the rail.
Strange, this October rain.
Pregnant weather and birth canal streets
to hydroplane a dialogue.
Argue that it’s intrinsic—
a lack of
an excess of
and all things Lamarckian.
Theorize as I match Chris’s socks
with homologous pairs. Two baskets,
boxers and all, like a mitosis.
Chris and Sam are elsewhere,
not as neat, not as clean
not as wrapped up in histones.
I care and I don’t. But I do,
so I leave the clothes folded
and warm on the floor.