MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018--part 7)
scent of the day: Nose Rest Day
MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018—part 7)
posting pictures of yourself on a lake holding out bought fish
a new generation too scared of bugs to preserve the indigenous tradition
promiscuity as a way to own having been raped
whore eyes waver under the pimp’s glare
just let grandma have a boyfriend already
storage unit corpses
conservationists snuffing out so many creatures to save the one species
damaged by a support group whose members refuse to accept they are dying
dark thoughts cloaked under politically correct euphemism
art that highlights our mortality bought, installed, and preserved, as a measure to evade mortality
we conceal things (such as the mouth) to focus elsewhere (the eyes), and with concealment total (the niqab) the focus is sexiest: the imagination
failing to distinguish between the origin of your belief and the evidence in its favor
construing as a critique of our time what is for the creator a celebration of our time
squished butts, a few with lipstick, in the ashtrays of each decade
the identity trauma of having to give back the uniform and rifle
refusing to give up your hard-won blankism
still dreaming of yourself smoking after all these years
a father always there, but no more than furniture
memories never convenient to visit
cultivating a stolid surface for those who expected you to be stolid
ethnic grocery aisles of dusty products
story excavation before we lack the strength
wishing for someone to live who does not want to
self-aspersed for clinging to your last few illusions
envying people for whom the search has come to an end
work time comes too soon when creating art
rollers and doobie pins in public
Atlantic farm-raised salmon
ketchup and water soup
tears that run into the ears
high-school hall drifters who know the janitors by name
finding all the Olympians to be younger than you now
gone before noticeable sea rise
shorter work hours allow more time to hold leaders accountable
each year you pass your death date
were there a devil, the truest threat to it would be finding joy in the face of all the torture and the suffering
were there a devil, the truest boon to it would be fearing loss in the face of all the ups and downs of fortune
nicotine, caffeine, and sugar
to help us keep completing
the meaningless tasks of industry
if a theory (only one object exists) contradicts the appearances and yet explains the appearances (cats are features of the one), it is obtuse to reject that theory merely because of the appearances
publishers, tv networks, film studios, colleges (all human, and so trepidant) buckle— in a land where money matters most—even under slight consumer discontent, and so how could we expect their products not to be diluted panderings of pop conformity?
in a victimhood culture that is also capitalist, lucrative it is—and so hard not—to draw lines hard not to cross
you think redemption will come from one more book even though you think no one needs redemption
a liking that is not a wanting—even, in fact, a wanting for the thing to be as it is
mechanisms to cope with not helping people you can very well help
the cannot-be-serious-ness of the thought that if there is no God, there is nothing bigger than yourself to believe in
hiding mental bondage under the cloak of care: “Only because I care do I spend all this energy replying to detractors”
turning a blind eye to your kid selling drugs, because how else will you keep the lights on?
those who respond “But look how different the twins turned out to be despite growing up the same” are dumb to nature’s subtlety—to them each clam is the same because each clam looks the same (to them)
