MADE FOR YOU AND ME 1: hive Being (Stanzas 2016—part 33)
Let's workshop this stanza sequence about penis envy mushrooms, fathers having their kids fistfight, mechanisms to cope with inferior skill, blind sprinters, male tampons, belief in God, love
digital pacifier for cranky kids sheer drapes dancing the fan wind academia so often gets in the way of learning mug size revealing the host of the house party ashamed of your depression, too heavy for façade smiles ashamed to face that you revise to be understood exiting the freeway into rush-hour traffic, the mushroom trip takes a sudden turn from free-floating awe to existential dread she whines for her father’s brush, the presumed sorcery behind a paint job sharper than her own sun-worn landscapers China buffet in pink twilight all look up from coffee and phones as the hand of a black man suction-claps the hand of another in the subway old man in the restroom stall envying the power of other streams extra-extended canes tipped with roller balls, heads tracing the infinity symbol of the blind— two men in jumpsuits clear the street in sprint the traveler’s black-hearted pleasure in leaving behind all the disheartened trapped in their cities, their routines yard-sale asthma inhaler no one aware that each day you face a hiding from everyone that you are on trial watching someone die, only in rare cases do we want it to end simply that some other retains belief in God provides us comfort crumpled white linens— baggy pants, a button down— fluttering in the sea breeze sheets of wet toilet paper spelling out words upon the mute glass of the cell liberal drunks who refuse to let their kids even see toy guns and who will respond, “Alcohol isn’t violent—people are” the adage “jealousy never dies in true love” let him believe that his love had not died (rather than that he was a controlling fuck) invigorated by the terror you elicit ambition alone seldom keeps misfortune from knocking you off the path to your goal victorious but in tears (having been forced to fight a kid from the block), you stop your dad’s laughter with a brick to that bloody-nosed face on the ground tampons in the underwear drawer of the wannabee female the high-school football star made vulnerable by a belief, shared by us and grounding our shock at his drug spiral—a belief in his invulnerability the length of rage, envy, joy, fear, love—although not ultimately up to predetermined beings like us— remain more up to us than, say, that we were born angst over our impotence to consume the surfeit of art today, as if there were ever a time when we could absorb it all more effective than destroying surplus is deterring production: counter-propaganda, for instance, that not everyone is an artist
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.
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