MADE FOR YOU AND ME 1: hive Being (Stanzas 2016—part 36)
Let's workshop this stanza sequence about unwanted kittens, fallen berries, backing down from suicide, Mexican spread eagles, anal sex in hot-pepper cultures, letters to soldiers, rapists
pillowcased kittens arm-centrifuged over the bridge unwilling to join a prison gang brave actions that do not stem from bravery genuine religious conversion, but still for money-pussy-safety cup-smashing disputes over which color is best the (vocalized) resolution to stop chiding yourself for jabbering out loud to no one—yet another stride toward that alley in long-repeated dreams? despite its ant mounds and its wolf piss on bushes and rocks, we cherish the wildland for being “unparcelled” fallen berries baking in the sun—the concrete smell of alcohol deep in sheltered hands, puffed from lawnmower vibration, is the itch of thighs in baths after snow play taking your finger off the trigger because you do not want people remembering you for the mess mortifying sobriquets among school friends making each other confront their limitations now are you the family pet with your own little story, a mythic creature like a dragon, or perhaps a pack animal like a wolf? you will die even if you no longer wish your rapist would have killed you the big-bang whole but a terrarium piñata sweets go untouched— paper strips of Mexican porn spread across the birthday lawn telling the story again, as if you did not realize, allows the other to show off insight into how its events unfold, which has that person like you brain cancer his diagnosis, the bodybuilder drives to the gym before even going home first—flexing his health in the mirror moonlighting from nothing the pull of the mountain peak boasting how little sleep you get disasters wiping out parochialism parents who find their children ugly yearly rehearsal of the queen’s funeral grade-school letters to soldiers overseas mistaking the light of day for an inside light no escape for disableds in the tsunami flood zone gentle fingers rake the kitten paw through the litter, coating its poop “The more ‘No’s the more likely the next will be a ‘Yes,’” says the Sapphire Ambot, the strumming and singing opening on Kenny Loggins’ “I’m Alright” that stage—punctuated just enough by breaks here and there—where smokers complain: “Ugh. Just can’t kick this fucking cold!” screwing asspipes in spicy-food cultures photos from the future (say, of major cities underwater) might spur us—but, of course, time-machines are the least of our concerns fossilizing the nail into the wood with fury born from it bending despite attempts to tap it in with soft control is it that catcallers—sometimes simply groaners—are inept at birdsong, encouraged by their inept buddies? alone and wondering if anyone is thinking of you right now near-naked natives with western devices (selfie hats) completing tribal tasks (fish gutting) without thought wickedness, you fuck—not compassion— has you refute those wild conspiracies without which lives would lack meaning when you wonder how you keep on having to produce even as the horizon is one of desolation, at that point you realize your kinship with the ants: you once thought it absurd how they keep on, no matter how many times you destroy their mounds
This is a portion of an ongoing mosaic poem called Made for You and Me. This portion is from the first installment: hive Being (Stanzas 2016-2020). More specifically, it is from the 2016 portion of that five-part work.
Photo: pinterest.com/pin/768215648916169235/