MADE FOR YOU AND ME 1: hive Being (Stanzas 2016—part 16)
Let's workshop this stanza sequence, which includes reiki healing, black maids, news anchor suicides, balloon artists, cemetery visits, infanticidal cannibalism, superglued labia, insult comics, rape
the point where you no longer wish your rapist would have killed you uglier than violence is the attitude according to which nothing is worth violence reiki, magic stones—all bullshit, but the placebo might count for something in recognition, your no-longer puppy galumphs to your old lover—reuniting you in ignorance of the cause of rupture the child’s love for his maid transcended color, but soon enough the world convinced him she was just his tool your wife’s ex shoots you a wink at dinner and, with a flex of brows, nudges his head her way—yes, as if to salute some man-bond femme fatale seduction frustrated by the autistic failing to read her signs suicide by cop barred from parks practicing for midlife trees gutted by lightning basslines vibrating chest cavities live newscaster gun-mouth-icides gushy orgasms throughout the rape the money it takes to be who you are fish for supper but only if we get lucky pinned down and told you deserve it marching to oblivion, bitter toward one another internet enlivening the worst in us, but the best too the boy, insane from fear, swings wild through his tears evicted families telling the children “We’re going camping” God hates Hard Shell Baptists who are overweight and pasty white power turned the smart man into a smiling script-reading animatronic how can those so warped by hatred love the same music and movies as us? a land where we wonder what Hitler’s last name was stones on window sills to keep out evil parents in the crowd, mouthing the awaited lines of the play vanilla millennials “tatted” with affordable exoticness mimicking down the nausea of watching the most heinous crimes become forgotten Asians of age as stand-ins for girls on the cusp of curves is—well, just not the same the side that wanted to preserve the true account stood stronger than the side that wanted to make a story tedium entwined in what is most exciting, worthwhile: making school lunches and waiting at airports; restringing the guitar and waking up to the same face one turns, and so does the other—bed connection high-pressure sales of made-to-order balloon dogs pain meds more for the observers than the IVed dying she knew, yes, it would only spotlight how vulnerable our lives are, and so she asked not to be told the life-saving information labeling people “lonely” for preferring fantasy over flesh is failing to grasp the joy of company with one’s multitudinous self esteems shattered for life from what was for the budding insult comic mere playful practice on friends if you were not so arrogant as a young person, likely you would not have been in so many circumstances gifting you with so many humbling experiences watching you struggle to budge his desk, the client dangles cash in your direction, indifferent as to whether you were faking rival Televangelists cops confused by the good guns perfumed for the lone grave visit temporary moats in the beach sand it is easy to forget that sniping is an art just the blanket in a mound, not a person if only we knew what the threat of prison stopped erectile dysfunction surgery to stop a pending divorce disaster films taken as escapes, not as calls to plan ahead so many mothers gnawing their babies to death on this planet we hear about the benefits of dreaming, but what about the costs? harrowed by that callous residuum of superglue on the tip of the finger why say that our reaching out for reassurance is not a reaching out for love? justifying an inordinate impulse to create, family untended to, through the repeated self-delusion that you would be a murderer were it not for art the full-balls urgency with which you try to get your kid down on your date night only invigorates the little fuck the cocktail wiener— shafting back and forth through labia whose ends are Krazy-glued rock frontmen confronting the question, after a great first show, as to how they can replicate such frenzy on stage three hundred more times
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.
Photos of polar bear eating her baby: indiatimes.com/technology/science-and-future/climate-change-is-destroying-polar-bear-habitats-forcing-them-to-eat-their-children-507331.html