Monday, February 11, 2019

Poem For A Dying World

What is grace? The spin
of a wasp, a locomotive
in the breath. Allow
yourself to be yourself
I hear someone vacuuming

the hallway and I dream
of Hamlet riding a motorcycle
across Arizona with a monkey
on his back. I like to create rhythms
for the dance of jelly
during the collapse

of industrial civilization
the truth is never simple
let me whisper in your ear
I need razors and Oreo cookies
there’s no morality in nature
it’s a dog eat dog world
with a little occasional hedonism
thrown in. I once lived in California

where I learned to photosynthesize
and enjoy wine. Music
drooled from the suburbs
and various rivers bumped into the ocean
an exit from experience

does not attest to the fate of what
comes out of experience
I banish all mass from this poem
homelessness has been normalized
and I’m sitting in a gas
of nitrogen and oxygen
while the glaciers melt and the seas
begin to rise and flood the cities
the slow drip of candle wax
attests to the beauty of understatement
I don’t think we’re going to ride this one out
hang on to your hat

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