February 29, 2016

posting things to wooden church doors

cover art from the Kubaney record label,
Manuel Caballero’s “Gigantes y Cabezudos” ©

I am calling this year's election, Musical Felicity 
and she's my show tunes hooker-ette
and as she waves, purring in silhouettes  
she frames doorways, eager to let us know 
that this year's theme is a very latin flavored crow: 

(cuando los políticos desfiles de 
gigantes y cabezudos , 
empiezan a succionar todo el 
aire y el agua ...)

we begin our story 
in a melancholy Spring time 
lilting halfheartedly, disposable 
wishes as if wearing wings with wigs in tow 
could sing all of what francis scott key wrote...

when stewards of the two American political parties 
circumvent-ively ignore their bases 
and begin cloud seeding nooses in the news 
for any and all loose cannons, just if ably 
only to anoint a more comfortable mollification 
there is more than atonal angst afoot...

when they're putting more importance 
on putting forward a pleasant face 
atop all the gerrymandered unseemly(s)...
they have once again 
forgotten the legacies 
of populist candidates past...

it has been asked recently  
when does pretending 
something doesn't exist 
cancel out its ability to affect you...?

when do we graduate to life 
beyond some vagaries about tradition 
and choice worthy moments to graft 
ideas of liberty versus security 
onto what constitutes a living 
breathing compact of peoples 
with ideas to share... 

the membrane airways 
and waterways are tides here 
where we are now(s)
and where have we been(s)...

swimming floating formed 
we have in each of us 
an inexorable march
toward this thing 
called being alive 
it is why we thrive 
when our backs 
are to a wall...

though these days 
with so much living dead 
in our heads, how can we not
just be desperate bones 
wanting to be soul 
heard praying 
in a right way...

no, I am not 
really sure 
about any of it 
to be wrong or 
long for something 
and it is just as well 
for this poem seems 
more a song 
of redemption 
for trying 
than buying 
any roadside 
on my way to hell...

why would anyone dare 
to care beyond 
their own comforts 
and creatures to legislate  
at the very least 
a sense of civility 
and accord for something 
more than a selfish regard 
for a broadly narrowed 
way of thinking...

coda in the handbill

a disembodied chorus starts 

furtive at first 
with lights in fade 
curtains slow culling close...

"yeah, they're probably 
getting rid 
of all those 
wooden doors 
in your town too..."



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  2. I just hope not to be alive if our species loses the ability to live humanely...and if all I can do or surmise is surprise the minds full of eyes that a nose may know more than you or I ever do, well a noisy finite pretending to be his own sweet music this poet's life will be...spectral aspergers symphony