MADE FOR YOU AND ME 2: hive Being (Stanzas 2017—part 8)
Let's workshop this stanza sequence about skinny dipping, Viagra, groomer dads, repossession, time, bestiality, ghosts in CB static, tornados and whirlpools, LSD, deaf Tourette's, car crashes, organs
Viagra-loaded to avoid another rape fail starving as you may be, it is illegal to sell your organs skinny-dipping through memory timbers rotting inside castle walls such a kick out of deceiving the gullible clothing ads in picture frames in the bedroom of a child with no direction the Christmas tree ratcheted to the car roof, obscuring vision, well into February how could he have been a sage, never heeding any misfit messenger? what underappreciated routines unknowingly approach sudden conclusion? a father telling the daughter whom he has yet to touch that her sister has all the looks adults who think they are conversing deeply when they wonder if the nose shape they see in some Hubble nebula might be the nose of God the more outlandish the conspiracies, the more they titillate our childhood sense of wonder and mattering, both of which we are nostalgic for in our nine-to-five march toward oblivion kids locked into cartoons with cereal, duty finds you unplugging the TV and carrying it away for repossession remember our sad credulity: before we learned there were no advanced intellects on mars, many were sure Martians regularly visited Earth to fill the void with drama, we leap beyond all the prosaic options (hoax, hallucination) and insist the unidentified is extraterrestrial monsters in our visions keep us close to our group hypnagogic hallucinations change with the times shipwrecked in solitary anguish, we scan dim horizons for kindred exiles deaf people with Tourette’s signing vulgarities columnar vortices brutalizing its brief actors to initiate reform of the system he pulled back from disturbing her sleep on his yawning way to his final crash hit by lightning while on LSD New Age tourists in fat droves for the crop circle still buzzing with dowser-detectable orgone energy no wonder the youth turned out this way: their parents were wrapped up in the drama of WrestleMania and supermarket tabloids people interpreting your drastic reaction, not as a sign of the severity of the situation, but merely of the fact that you are crazy organizing time, like Plato, in terms of lunar phases— each day having no name a new planet in a new solar system— and yet so much seems familiar beyond just that it has a horizon almost everyone pushing something—unless pushing skepticism or putting truth above all— has a vested interest against skepticism he must have known his “recordings of ghosts” in CB static was BS since neither he nor the few he showed screamed his finding out to the world pain enough to numb existential dread moments chopped and named by industrial timetables enticed to stay in the box, perhaps even unaware that it is a box, because of how roomy it seems whispers of “Me too” across dividing seas twisted into shouted slogans rallying gangs who find purpose and analgesia in bullying “He is doing much better” the unknowing say of the artist: “He could say nothing about current events before, shut in like that” if our daily condition were that of nudity, snuggling up in clothes would have us feel the magical belonging skinny dipping does but going back threatens to ruin the way you saw it back then never outgrowing sibling rivalry dirty minors nourished each day on packaged flakes, one of the subtle stabilities beneath power-cutting fluctuations of guardians, schools, friends, and milk teens who love beasts ready to kill themselves, thinking they are the only ones she takes the available relationship with her dad (that of drug buddy), not the one preferred (that of daughter) brightening the tenor of speech due to forehead frowns a crescendo of cheers from inmates when the prison-performer’s lyrics come to the part of shooting a man convinced the curses specifically target you despite the many communiques arriving from trekkers climbing through similar wilderness
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.
