Sunday, April 10, 2011

The Art of the Possible

First they trim the fat.   Then they cut the meat from the bone.  Someone soon comes to suck out the last of the marrow.  Then someone else arrives to lick the bone clean.  If you’re lucky enough to find a way, you can drill holes in the bone and carve out a mouthpiece.  Then you can pipe songs about going hungry, about the winter cold, getting shafted.  Thus (while they prefer what turns to shit) the bone lives every time you blow into it.

Friday, April 1, 2011

In This Day and Age


He refuses to say homeland.
He refuses to say lord.
He refuses to say sign on the dotted line.
He refuses to sign.  He refuses
To say homeland.
He refuses to cry over spilt milk.
He refuses to get over it.
He refuses to leave it behind.
He refuses the past that is not the now.
He refuses the future that is not the past.
He refuses to say homeland.
He refuses Motherland and Fatherland.
He refuses to say get on your knees.
He refuses Hands up and up against the wall.
He refuses to look through a microscope.
He refuses telescopes and riflescopes.
He refuses cameras but accepts the birds’ view.
He refuses God walking among us.
He refuses to walk with God.
He refuses a God you can walk with.
He refuses to let it rest.  To kick a dead dog.
He refuses to enlist.  To heed any call.
He refuses himself and the horse he rode in on.
He feeds the horse he rode in on first.
He refuses to eat.  He refuses no crumbs but the table.
He refuses to abide by certain anythings.
He refuses to accommodate the armed and dangerous.
He refuses not to be the armed and dangerous.
He refuses to concede the point.  He refuses the point.
He refuses to wave a flag.  Wear one.  Hang one.
He refuses not to burn the flag.  Any flag.  The flag of home
He refuses to take down under any circumstances.
He refuses to refrain from corrupting his children.
He refuses children who are corrupted.
He refuses a wife who is a wife.  He refuses a life that’s a life.
He refuses sickness and death to a mirror.
He refuses to clean the rain droppings on his window.
He refuses to say the day is anything other than a day.
He refuses to be spared.  He refuses to spare anyone.
He refuses to work on it.  He refuses working.
He refuses to live alone and with others.
He simply refuses.  He refuses to say
There was no other choice.  Choice refuses
His refusal to choose otherwise.
He refuses with all his heart and soul.
He refuses to dismiss heart and soul and refuses
To admit to one or the other pale as bone.
He refuses to unbury the bones.
He refuses to string them together and scare everyone.
He refuses to string them together and belittle everyone.
He refuses the cause that’s a smaller third doll.
He refuses the doll without a voice.
He refuses to be a doll with a voice.
He refuses to voice the doll’s point of view.
He refuses not to adopt a point of view
He refused not to adopt yesterday.
He refuses to be a butterfly with a pin through its neck.
He refuses to move when the lights flash.
He refuses flashing lights.
He refuses the flash that isn’t in the sky.
He refuses it outside the inside of mountains
He refuses to refuse and refuses not to.
He refuses this day and age.
He refuses this day of rage and day of me.
He refuses days of me.
He refuses to countenance days of me.
He refuses whatever is not me.
He refuses whatever is not you.
He refuses to refuse you.
He refuses to refuse you in this day and age.