Go Figure
Forty years socialism’s
still the twitching phantom limb
crying form’s a sham
add an e
shame deceive deny
ignoring what it’s altered
what could be true
versus
what is the case:
dysfunction: one and unequal
fourteen feet of woodsy grid
faculty mail slots
measure as plain
as the nose on our face
damned redeemed used
not
Herr Doktor Überwelt
or Madame Moi-Meilleur
in 48 point Gothic caps
& every adjunct the majority
in 8 point lower
case Times Roman
but everyone meriting
the same
all upper
Arial 24
font equality
real
a start
WaMu
You’re on the longest line
you’ve ever seen at your ghost bank,
one of the many October buy-outs
though it still keeps its own name
aggressive banners proclaiming
“We’re the same bank—only better.”
and “We’re becoming Chase.”
When you get to a teller,
one of two on duty, you ask,
How come you’re down to two tellers?
We had some staff changes,
whispers the twenty-year-old pony tail.
You mean there were lay-offs…?
Her eyes meet yours, hands still
moving, fiddling with slips.
For a few seconds,
we’re co-conspirators,
freedom fighters.
Have a good day.
You too.
Skewed
the subject line
bigger manhood
wishing it opened eager
I am not now nor have ever been
a member myself
though historically
cock-crazed in certain contexts
generated by just
the right scripts sound tracks
but the way manhood
circulates
waries me
spam stumping for more reason
mangled voice over eye
unlikely so begin gingerly
never believing
it’s what’s up front that counts
image your own private filibuster
in extremis always worrying
charade a canonic bleed
flowing backwards from the period
meaning happened
after veering so close
soldiering on
both true and not true
every telling a slant
universalizing lie like most
a two-incher on a leash at best
if you think about it why bother
but leading? never
neutral ave rage
gorging on frequency mood duration
black humor’s meaty salvage
the period cross (or garlic) to poem
softening lusty witches up
goofballs dizzying after words
line hermits main terminals
plug me in grounded
can of worms
Shorthand
venceremos
thirty-year
downgrade
si se puede
Trade-offs
You walk outside to the garbage cans, realize that being mugged just isn’t on your radar. There’s no one around, and you can hear the crunch of your feet on the gravel. Yet you feel completely safe. You crane your neck and look up at the stars, savoring the sky. For this sense of well-being, you’ve traded another—the public space of cities. Uncertainty the other side of randomness. Where you come from, there was always a hint of danger lurking, the need for constant alert. A paranoia so visceral it could pass for hard-wired.
