Today kids, we are going to talk about / superstructure
so what I got blown up by an IED for ten thousand, I am permanently
injured by the desire to be alive
for what is love, babies do hurt me
The earth turns / On a man’s need for gadgets
So I told everyone that night
At Chapel Bar, where a boy spoke
Of trying to suffocate himself
With a bag that had once held
Snacks, but the second he smelled
Sour cream and chive, he knew
He had to stay. “I thought you
Would laugh at that,” and I did.
The farmer eats shit / because he can / and likes it
The thing about novel people
is they think they are characters
in novels. Or novelizable life.
What is life. Round
characters of course | who would ask to be
flat a mere
device to get us
from one identifiable event
to.
Everything winds up everywhere, that’s thermodynamics
I am the roof of my mouth
And more: meshed complex of various
Hardbound moistures whose syncing concert,
Fires and contractions, writ sixty-four inches large,
Wins bread. How strange. How hinged on organs
Clacking along, on thought’s mostly lost
Steam, and this is how the barn stays raised?
The Organization likes / to hit them where they’re sleeping
If it was too cold you called on Satan.
Satan also had pre-rolled cigarettes;
no one had tobacco in Europe yet
for like 400 years, but Satan did
there are places in which the mind thrives like plankton, where jobs / are easy to come by & every apartment overlooks the park
This is how the poem begins. / This is how the poem began / and its beginning is behind us already / like a door.
Easy to deride / The way he stayed alive inside / His women with his puffed-up pride. / The pharmacy supplied
