Homo Americanus
freeform hollerin’ at the Lit conference (in syllabics)
1.
No. We don’t want you to breathe in—then out.
No need to stand up, stretch out, twirl your wrists.
Most assuredly, no incantations
Are being asked of you, not a single word.
Know what, Jack, Jill? Scrap the four directions.
Your identities and ours beside yours
On a coat rack at the door, quite comfy
How much whacking can your piñata take?
Yes, you stand on stolen land, you may now
Zounds! Methinks my station merits the ploy
Which, under these conditions, is public
Though you’re planted on private property.
We do acknowledge that: the conditions
The one thousand directions not to take
At this after after party, we call
Anarcho-Tyranny Über Alles
Or, simply, The Finance Oligarchy.
Please be modest, slithering on the ground
Scooping up treats, subtracting from the whole
Our allotments of failed Liberal Schemes
Coming into view as we splinter up.
2.
Who won the prize? The prize among prizes.
A prize of a prize, you might say, a win
Over one more prize—to win—a prize, won.
Surprise! There’s no prize for that. Or for this.
Piñata sticks swung blindly all at once
Is more to the point, bloody point, hobbling
Stumbling onto the arena of Kultur
But what’s at a distance tracking it all?
Or, in close: poetics as detainee
Marks it a fugitive—in mind, and gut.
We were just about to jump outta here
As the smoking debris began to cool
Before the dawn of more Centrist Hokum.
But here we are, herding piss-poor students
Into the bare halls of Career Poet.
There’s exactly five things a prize can do:
One: it bestowith wings to wingless works
Two: it stauncheth today’s systemic wounds
Three: perchance it payeth the rent—golly
Four: it groweth wings on the fugitive
Five: it clipith the fugitive’s new wings
3.
Strategies recalibrating tactics
Kind of work. Kind of what might not—is you.
Games abound this side of the barricades
One of them is Self™, as designed by “you”
But here’s another piñata at hand
Popped out from nowhere, perplexing, tempting.
Fellow insurrectionists, lend an ear
Identity thinking stalls <hard reset>
And bullhorn this—all night long, publicly:
Old Universalisms pen us in
Where we mean to run with a New Story.
New Stories, reject Catastrophizing
Refuse a forgone Tragicomedy
Stage an Alternative Futurity
Identity thinking stalls <hard reset>
Blindfolded, Homo Americanus
Grab this trusty stick, grip it mightily
Raise it high—and on the downswing—crack it.
Now the bards scramble, now the bards bag up
Scraps of self, whose purpose—they know not what
Though it’s arousing, all this newfound pep.
The Charm and the Dread
a meditation in the time of COVID
Take a deep breath in.
Take a deep breath out.
In.
Out.
There is no past.
There is no future.
There is only now.
There is only now.
Trees … are hilarious.
Grass … is hilarious.
The charm of roots.
The charm of clouds.
The charm of that faucet that’s leaking again.
A Dohblin ahccent (how’d the fock that get in hire?)
Take a deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
Welcome to China.
Floating flowers in air.
The crimson yellow of no past.
The charcoal pink of no future.
Trees don’t select flight seats at the time of purchase.
Grass doesn’t need to know the hotel checkout time.
Oceans.
Oceans.
Oceans.
Oceans.
Breathe in.
Hold your breath.
Don’t let it out.
Hold your breath.
Sing “New York, New York” in your chest.
Knees clacking together.
Release your breath.
Welcome to Bourbon Street.
There is only now.
Ah-dohn-deh eh-stah lah cantina deh Tequila?
Oceans.
Oceans.
Oceans.
The charm of a medivac helicopter.
The dread of a failed meditation.
The charm of another ambulance.
The dread of a failed meditation.
The charm of a virus on your fingertip.
The dread of a failed meditation.
The charm of a curved graph line.
The dread of a failed meditation.
Take a deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
Two petals.
An emerald white of no past.
A lavender orange of no future.
There is only now.
Blue, with a hint of silver.
Oceans.
Oceans.
The last puddle on your street.
The power of a cat finding it.
The last flower of a hibiscus plant.
The power of a worm chomping it down.
That damn rooster again.
The rooster again.
The rooster.
Rooster.
Rue.
Stir.
Welcome to Antarctica.
Ah-dohn-deh eh-stah – breathe in.
Icebergs.
Icebergs.
Icebergs.
Nobody.
Nobody.
Nobody told you to stop breathing.
Nobody told you to start breathing.
Nobody told you—stop goofing.
Nobody told you to stop regarding that leaky faucet.
Droplets—one by one—is music.
Birds—one by one—is music.
The clouds are hamming it up.
Your heart is hamming it up.
Your lungs are hamming it up.
Your belly is hamming it up.
Your tongue is hamming it up.
Your toes are hilarious.
Your toes have always been hilarious.
Night sky, stars.
Night sky, stars.
Night sky, stars.
Betimes
a rhapsody for activists
Betimes, you stall, and by stalling, rocket
Betimes, you’re a dead-bored worker
Betimes, a devoted worker without deep purpose
Betimes, you’re a thrill-seeking slacker
Betimes, a genius co-worker—without peers
You chose this, you chose dialectical wreck sensational
You pounce towards direct intents unknown
You’ve sloughed off crooked dick nationalism
You’ve blown up indolence (on some occasions, eloquence)
Who can Velcro on a plasticized red wig when you want it?
Who can supply you a bronze lion future beast of victory?
Betimes, you’re a pre-pounce poet, posing as pouncer
Betimes, you’re a post-pounce as twitchy twitch
Not whatever! Never whatever! But this:
You’re a Spectral Socialist—savage
You’re a Spectral Socialist—civilizer
You’re a Spectral Socialist—dirt clod on diamond
Who can futurize “The People” without the trademark?
Who enacts fire canister hierarchical reform?
Betimes, you carouse, and by carousing, arouse
Betimes, you’re a “hella” (as y’all say) cat with hiss and claws
Betimes, you’re a devotee to love slamming you to the ground
Did you really choose this gem? Art thou chosen?
Are you ascending now towards free-floating domes in the sky?
Have you handily sloughed off sultry stance nationalism?
Betimes, nationalisms offer services—left or right
Betimes, intra-nationalisms show a way out—for a fee
Who can hyper-spatialize “The People” without coordinates?
Who enacts super symmetrical justice reform?
You’re a Spectral Socialist—bit actor
You’re a Spectral Socialist—stunt double
You’re a Spectral Socialist—diamond fleck on demon dung
Betimes, you rocket, and by rocketing, stall
Betimes, you stall, and by stalling, rocket
