February 26, 2010

Poem Considers Masculine Profit

penniless Poem does not look
well in this light, stark and industrial
dawns with loud semis coming
and going from the factory outlet

behind, a swamp squawks and chitters—
it is unclear whether it pre-existed the mall
or was moved there 

Poem is waiting for a ride or something
like epiphany and is attracting stares

the guy across the way selling
burgers and whistling at a vague idea of salvation

why does Poem always end up out of it?
out of sync? out of fashion? out of the way?

pacifism ripples from the untoward
breeze, an ease, a conditional spark of

not knowing why or who to demean, not
wanting to own any of those favorite terms for torture

commercial driving love into mouths, a kind of self-
immolition and Poem exists, stubborn leaflets crumpling under
the boots of the pornographic entrepreneurs
consolidating an unsustainable hate into
something all the stakeholders can approve

jeez, Poem thinks, presses a thumb to his
pulse—if I am not a live man then I’d better
find some new seeds—not a plot but an area—

something simple, some camouflage, some cache


Irene said...

The semis (literally meaning half) was small Roman bronze coin that was valued at half an as.

Justin said...

The poem is the salvo of the semi that says hello to 'so' (as in 'so it is'). The poem prays for itself while you wait for its profit. The poem stuffs your self with the silhouettes of old desires. And in the end, the area of the poem isn't plowed but pulls the barriers into their own face.

Anonymous said...