MADE FOR YOU AND ME 1: hive Being (Stanzas 2016—part 39)
Let's workshop this stanza sequence about white ladies at brunch, racist math, penis pills, seal activists, portraits for patrons, the north pole, fourth-wall violations, Hitachi magic wands
mimosa-tipsy but still-timorous bob cuts swaying in their brunch chairs to live music lobster-claw rubber bands reused as cock rings trees give us breath, boats, bats, books boots caked in summer clay, treading the ever-bruised limbs of old people boasts of wealth to underscore personal integrity no longer able to cum without a vibrator, numbed a bit even to that it is easy to condemn escapism when you do not work hard beer bottles hammered in a garage grease towel to near powder, mixed into Fancy Feast for the neighbor’s cat tumescence tablets tucked away under car mats, couch cushions— any place the magic might happen the child’s supermarket urge to plunge a finger through the ground-beef plastic immerse yourself in a crowd to make yourself feel you are doing the right thing hearing “Bless you” from some stranger shitting in the next stall felt like seeing an actor shift to the lens to address you on the couch seal activists with stun guns trigger-righteous on the beach during pupping season deemed a party-pooper prick—the bad guy— for curbing your kid’s intake of an underrated, but ubiquitously ingested, poison: refined sugar we accept, welcome, being deceived by our friends so long as (1) it is what we deceive ourselves about and (2) no one mentions that deception is going on teaching math in the racist way: callously insisting (1) that there are correct answers and—if that were not enough to make you puke at the vileness of white supremacy— (2) that work be shown (so the teacher can understand how the answer was reached) freedom in idea turned out better than in reality metal percussion, buckles and coins, within the dryer’s thrum hand-washing dishes, loving each excuse to throw this or that away we stole their lands, yes—but it was for the glory of God! the sitter’s opinion on whether the portrait captures her likeness somehow holds sway despite our blindness to what we look like if it is laughable to think that thinking often on one’s last moments can make them bearable, then the same goes for thinking often about birthing to stand at the absolute heart of the north pole, where a day spans an Earth year, is to stand at a quantum spot that jumps around in a cloud where there would be no longer any north to go and so where every direction would be south yesterday “atheist" was the label to delegitimize even those to which the label did not apply— and today, of course, the label is “racist"
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.
