MADE FOR YOU AND ME 1: hive Being (Stanzas 2016—part 26)
Let's workshop this stanza sequence about electrojacs, the ribs of canned food, self-soothing mechanisms across the animal kingdom, shitlocks, jaw dislocations, alcoholism, parking-lot donuts
how we come alive when death pierces us doctors not above fetching bedpans fistfight at a funeral an adolescent elephant still sucking its trunk for comfort rancher rod up the bull’s rectum to electrocute the prostate for an ejaculation there is more to life than violence according to a narrow view of either violence or life scraping dried color from sash window panes with fresh razor blades spoons grating the ribs of tin cans—one voice in the kitchen fugue reluctant to take organs and blood from criminals anti-hookup zoophiles who say that nonresistance of the animal— even when the sex is aligned with everyone’s wishes—is not enough to make the interaction moral (since there must also be true connection the saved envy themselves— the part that lives on, not the part from which the envy stems imagine if we construed 911, or Pearl Harbor, as the lashing out of the desperate against a bully only learning of our poverty after leaving our home city and gaining points of comparison the adoption form, its boxes—willing to accept HIV, cleft-lip, blindness?—seen as a test for how open your heart truly is shit-infused dreadlocks on the dog’s hind legs stewarding the Earth while starving too intimidated to look back into your old journals (and so your imperious idiocy) until it became too late poetry is the perfect refuge for the conman type wanting to hide from what they are with how good, cleansing, it feels to whitewash a fence, how can anyone object to the coming of the hipsters? the wasted look of saints and junkies: everything given up, reduced to animal need, for the addiction if the spread of poverty-speak is bad for precise thinking, then for social health the vulnerable must not be forgotten those who think that repentance to the weak is a case of repentance not born from fear of harm have forgotten about either God or the Self jaw dislodged from a flying knee, on the canvas he continues to throw combinations, soft—as if in a dog dream exciting as really seeing the thing or really being there is, just imagine if afterwards you see it on the news! mistaking solitude for grief remaining Christian merely because you have converted ones close to you siblings with the same tattoo by different artists the grunting child grows old in his mud runs along the chain link with each passerby, making our neighborhood home choking out and spitting at the wrong face, not the one with the rape fantasy next door tire track eddies throughout the lot— strip mall coming soon slowing oneself down preparing the drug, not to seem too eager a new colleague’s order of wine at lunch is just enough to have him disregard his wife’s tears and the state of his liver
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: neogen.com/categories/veterinary-instruments/ideal-electrojac-6-probe/