MADE FOR YOU AND ME 1: hive Being (Stanzas 2016—part 50)
Let's workshop this stanza sequence about druids being not fundamentally different from us, art galleries after hours, kitchen-staff harmony, feuding hermits, deep-sea exploration, guillotine events
cum salvos powerful throughout the priesthood all the art dissolved in a supernova a shell around wife and kids, consumed by young pussy petroglyphs swallowed by shifting dunes moral courage atrophied by tongues held for peace an art gallery after hours, drinking in the still beauty white supremacists who have not checked their DNA that familiar cascade of neuronal firings weakens with age, her face fading even druid chants to fill the time and block the why, ended early because of rain and hunger the Saturday kitchen staff—well, all except the dish-shattering busboy—bustle submerged in that telepathic current of move anticipation bad blood between the two hermits caved, finally, by mutual forgiveness— the synchronicity forever concealed ever slinking and reclusive, avoidant, to stifle the quiet reality that they are not looking for you before thinking that cancel culture will not get too extreme, we should remember who we are: macabre critters who booed at early guillotine events for not tossing in some pre-torture thanks to the drudgery and sustained isolation it so often demands, never did she cultivate the power to appreciate the isolation-shattering entertainment of great literature the inspired jazz ensemble improvises as one, each member intuiting the flow like a flock shifting in unison from some communal cue the probing beam pauses too briefly upon the shipwreck barnacled in the ocean black— as if it somehow knew the void of discovery wanting each other dead it smolders beneath iris-peering smiles laughter echoes: silent observers of tension beneath mutual vitriol blinding them to their child's suffering each wound demanding vengeance, the original lost to time our history of burning bitches at the stake, although unforgotten, fails to pause—even seems to enliven—our dichotomous mobs our boxcar door opens in a groan of rust— railyard moonlight the movie theater vomit the faint smell— butter popcorn walking the electric city block in dissociative cognizance of being a note in a symphony driven by the old thrill of the hunt and the goal of necessary meat, less than the thought of being forgotten the surest way to create a world of talking past each other, and ultimately of violence, is to teach the youth to esteem finding fault in others over explaining fault away
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.
