I want lessons in everything teach me everything tell me show me I want the Renaissance in my fingers give me language give me knowledge give me 10,000 hours for every -ology I want to be every -ologist crack talent out of self-doubt and laziness and tell me what happened in Lithuania in 1736 I want to know what Marx would’ve thought about it and I want to articulate my love until Shakespeare sounds like the third grade and I will love you with a song written with the sensuality of Walt Whitman on a sitar and another on jazz guitar I want to spin them together knit the turntables a dust cover with wool I sheer myself from a flock I tend myself and spin to yarn on a spindle I whittle from a tree hacked down by my own strength and systematically repurpose branch for branch like the Sioux might avenge the life of a buffalo undone bring me to that prairie lead me through the woods lay with me in a grassy field until we have no breath left whatever the reason abandon me I need to know when to pull up my lunch by looking at the sun which is exactly 27 million degrees at its core but only 10 million degrees on its surface which is exactly how I feel