Once,
I was afraid of dying
In a field of dry weeds.
But now,
All day long I have been walking among damp fields,
Trying to keep still, listening
To insects that move patiently.
Perhaps they are sampling the fresh dew that gathers slowly
In empty snail shells
And in the secret shelters of sparrow feathers fallen on the earth.
Source: Wright, James. Above the River : The Complete Poems. A Wesleyan University Press ed. Farrar Straus and Giroux ; University Press of New England 1992, p. 142.
Funny how in my head was strange how or childish how really vice versa what a way to go you tell me who i’ve been kissing by tasting my diction memory being google that or bing this it’s funnier recording endless survival as the great grey shrike separates the humane evolutionary fact of its call i don’t remember fred moten beefing with mayonnaise then i do his car alarm soars high under the birdcall stoops how could this be the last poem as twenty five gs crash my collection of rare tubercles and tomial teeth stories multiply in data bath when i’m not looking blast out the back of my throat.
No thinking about the holes in teeth confused in cloud alley but elegant not selling elegance but true put the phone down elegance you ballet of proper verb forms then say ballet until her enjambment snaps off in her right hand the regional manager says put identity up there on the shelf beside the open box returns she’s talking about mycelium now or was a violent idiot a little tape holding it all together don’t take the comma deep underground take the coma of metaphor hey you guys look like you respect ska and city police neat and disorderly no one trying to reproduce scan or distribute any printed or electronic form of outre elder smoke returns through heavy mirrored interior of toilet paper tube violent design wins every time.
There i go volunteering i should have joined the army punish me self inflicted i cannot be caged pain sickness i cannot be controlled over used understand this as you die way over used ever pathetic here i stay ever fools hey time to time go for the eyes it must be what you put me through boo.
Hears rudy boray statistic over the buzzy bee loves those within earshot encourages the dog to snip forever swing the hammer steal your melancholic library refuse manipulation be manipulated blacken the iron gates speaking at universities and private corporate events jam four little trees black ice air fresheners into the maxima’s ac vents the dog campaigns with distressed exposition perfect blocking and michael bay explosions admitting each other into the hall of greatness pisses on the y button sprays flat crystals across the front row and loses essence the sad pathetic mystery of life that’s what’s so great about it so much is failure as they say all telescope no planets as they say generous images jump from the first floor window hold their breath disembowel narrative intent with living happily ever after eat my marshmallow now or later neither of us will cough again eats ashtrays to reimburse the moon eats ashtrays.
Yes eyes slush around a little bit I’m not asking for this level of engagement try a poetry of desire of mustfulness of Michael Bay coined to the lids of every solution I ever had for the world was fuck it or spend more money I have to get there first or I’m as good as a silly centipede in that event would you lurch toward or away from her I didn’t have a good answer and this time my brain is winning my grip is weak.
Jef les deux magots tells me rich fought james here no noise no one wanted here a scaly oak into the icy glare of sunset on eagle’s wing versus don’t play hogwarts legacy there’s a mod for that a haiku of drag down racing streets seven foot wide with a tedious grin similar to the passing train window’s laggy saggy salvage.
No matter how well you play your children die before you your spouse divorces you you lose a few wars one of your trusted council unceremoniously murders you many bad things happen to you history is messy it’s all design.
This is it this is the book all the poems beside the photos all tabulated with the right poetic references both pure and imagined the reading now and this in the sad score o the violence to the breath and spine that was what i came here to say.
For Rocco
Acid bark of petroleum too waste imagine never overhanging the city snake colossal hiss kisses armed icon retching sky too on feasting dawn i at the heart regret ever in this sour game the chaplain’s ten point star strewn too scenes too entertain too stretch too reflex too glacier too gamble too gone tossed too faithful.