We Dream Backward: A Glosa

the standing address, naked and constitutional
mirrored or thinking of one—one—
self many times: the thick air, re mind
divided between affiliations/mind
an ecology

independence a vitamin
or waterway erosion
the force of dissatisfaction turned

lovewords and systembreaking
and breath

such an address’s
mediation is the subject—classrooms waver—
20th Century bodies are new and
old—the text of skin, skin of
text’s bones, bones of one’s own senses coursed (“all” and
“you” Fr.) into Main St. discourses
with rules, miscreants, war . . .

if there is a narrative it is recurring and
repressive; if there is a poetic it is
non-industrial food and an expenditure

meaning/gender: in it
doing nothing worthwhile

for me, the body is a metaphor of energy, intensity

The Liberal Poem

the social is a line
out front or in the book that changed
the way words looked but now
Poem finds his home in an ethical
moment—here and there—love and generosity tented
against the wind and mobile like
strange associations

camped outside the headquarters of
who and how long the murmurs
of mythical men who believe, truly believe
and hurl epitaphs from large passing vehicles and Poem
wonders about that too while
ducking and continuing to prepare a
small meal

you see Poem doesn’t want his way to hold
sway and won’t try to convince you of what

anything means anything

this, Poem supposes
is the frightening part

“influence” stands surveying, a uniformed
part, part potential, part in-
security, a role that has something to do with fear
something to do with death

if there is no outside and inside
when then does Poem end?

this is a start

The Uses of Poem

diversion glides randomly close to
Poem stationed near the door of sense
in case he must leave quickly

a concentric gyre spins in the language
of the strange room we’ve built to house
questions—an aversion of conformity in
motion once the speeches are over
Poem reads the quiet as acquiescence
is disquieted, shuffles to the bar

Poem meant to say something about desire or
faith but understands these ideas don’t work anymore, gears
ground down and toxins leaking from the power
source and Poem gives them to the pawn shop in case
stability is still needed somewhere else

cascades cascades and palliative care chanced
upon by the newer born become tactful in
the ways of tricking hierarchy away from itself

famously, Poem churns down the boulevard hoping
not to find any inspiration in the evening light

such sentiments seem cynical but no,
no, Poem knows the age has turned and
symbols are falling around us everywhere

using leverage is not the mind’s best