MADE FOR YOU AND ME 2: hive Being (Stanzas 2017—part 4)
Let's workshop this stanza sequence about dementia, funerals, awe, self-help materials, cocaine highs and lows, animal deathmatches, honey, limited views of nature, denial of our animality, blame
dementia trimmed the wild growth of personas crowding out the first-known self the crudeness of the interface obscuring the vision of the soul (in both directions) the reward of burying loved ones yourself, shovel and all why all the buying required for self-help? why does a night out at the club “just with friends” always require first a pussy shave? failing to touch even when we do allergic—literally—to her unborn fetus a prodigal season beyond each parting bowing in awe between the long hours of attempting to decode it Pentecostal connection turned awkward contiguity in the cocaine low unable to reach around himself so far, the mom combs through Facebook uploads wondering who—which friend—helped duct tape the bomb to her son’s chest when the ideology gets strong enough—or, might it be, desperate enough?—expect flourishes of it being read back into history (as in, say, past emperors reclassified as trans) better for profit need not mean better for learning—and it definitely does not when the customer-students to be pleased for the sake of profit are pampereds demanding that college be as unsettling as the home from which they “grew” making your career bend to you such that you become a plumber, say, who still has time to travel diverting the other (chess) player from your mistake: probing him on a taboo topic; spilling a drink gambits to submerge her memory of the affair deliberately inept because knowing his wife pictures him utterly unloading himself in her sister drives a toxic erection chiseled indelibly with veins any worthy self-help book will advise you to appear as if you are not one to read such books a Paleolithic dessert of mere honey interfering in animal deathmatches is verboten even as our jeep emissions blacken the very air in which the lionesses leap at the giraffe throat? having intercepted a glance between others— a glance at your expense—do you fake as if oblivious to its supposed meaning? blame ends with enlightened burials those shut in due to mistrust in their powers photographing what someone else wanted to merely because someone else wanted to even as the house burns, the road there still bustles imprinted until death by the shore that erases imprints the only one trustworthy here is the one set to profit from ensuring your wellness scandals veiling malfeasance hands entwine divided worlds asking those trying to sell you a service for neutral advice on whether to get the service, and then getting mad at them for being biased that swiping left comes so automatically, and that we know we can always swipe left on the screens with which we spend most of our time, we are inclined to intense fear of missing out (overcome by an awareness that there are others we could be with) were it not for our having been born into expectations in a world of others who matter too—no shortcoming would require concealer, no disposition would require polish, for a heart knowingly anchored in cosmic security
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 2017 portion of that five-part work.
