IN A STATE Logan Ryan Smith

IN
A
STATE
Logan Ryan Smith
TRANSMISSION PRESS
Chicago.2010
Copyright © 2010 Logan Ryan Smith
All Rights Reserved
ISBN: zilch
Cover Photo by Logan Ryan Smith © 2010
Layout & Design by LRS
TRANSMISSION PRESS
Chicago, Illinois, 60657
transmissionpress.weebly.com
loganryansmith@gmail.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Parts  of  this  book  were  first
published  in  the  following
publications: Mrs. Maybe, sorry
for snake, minor/american, muffins, and Big Game Review. My
gratitude to the editors/ publishers of those publications.
IN A STATE
1
from this state,
which state,
this state
the state from which I plant my flag
could be any state
given the moment in time from which I state
my intentions or my intentions are given to me
could be anywhere
could be any time:
I’m in the back row of the state signaling with
my broken cell phone, I sit in the back of the room and yell
and I yell,
“You, at the front, stand down, sit,
you’re ruining the show, you’ve got no right
to rock the boat, to disappoint my view,” and when
my view is diverted my state is willing
my state is in a sense of change and that change
brings forth the rest
because, from here, I don’t really want to notice
the rest of the room
or be noticed
and the thing at the front of the room that is playing
be it a film or an actor or a poet speaking from a podium
with a piece of paper
or a combination of all three
I do not want it
and from my state
I will plant myself
solidly
will call out again,
“Hey, you, you sitting next to me, what brought
you here next to me, why are you sitting so quietly, speak up,
speak up, I say, I said, speak up,” when I spoke up I found
the room spun inconveniently so
and once again I’m turned over, in a state of unending
imbalance, there are rules to this, you know, says gravity,
there are ways that are and ways that aren’t
and you can’t do this, you know,
and I know
2
it’s not happening,
I’m only sitting in a room balancing
counting my lucky stars forming in the wake of displaced eyes
my eyes, of course, displaced from the balance causing little red
and green stars to dance before my eyes until I take a deep breath
and see
clearly
again:
I see that I’m in no auditorium and there are no poets
or actors
or anything of the like around me:
I’ve got a glass and a table near a window and it’s the city
that’s below me
this city that bellows loudly regularly for me
with the burning up of buildings and citizens
running like magnified ants
below me
crossing the intersection without much thought ringing
down upon them from the stars balanced above them
their heads so level upon their shoulders
until
of course,
I see one of them beneath the front fender of an
imported car
that glistens quite nicely in the dark
and I yell down,
“Are you okay, are you all right?”
and the driver says,
Yeah, I’m fine
3
from this state,
the state of “being”
from this state
that acts like anything
can be anything
and all
all
ends the same
from this state
I find myself
and in this state
I am myself
or sometimes
I may be
someone else
but that’s up
for discussion
and you may
speak of it
in your
dissertation
at the front of the room
I will assist you with visual aids
I will lift you up
over my head
and throw you
I will throw you, trust me,
as far as I can, and when I throw you,
trust me, I will throw you somewhere
and in such a way
that nothing can hurt you
and you’ll thank me, you will, you’ll say,
“I thank you. I do. Thank you, I did not know
it could go this way,” and I’ll tell you
how it could go any way, and anyway, Jesus,
it’s not so difficult to imagine a way to
the beginning of this state
or out of it
but there’s seemingly none of it
I don’t think I know what I’m saying
but I’ll always believe that you do
so I’ll keep going
I’ll ride from the stage
4
out on a lion
I’ll hold onto its fangs for good balance
it would be terribly embarrassing
to fall off a lion, you see,
in front of an audience—
Are you writing this down
this is good stuff
you should be sure to write the good stuff down
and what I’m telling you
now
is good stuff
is something you could use:
don’t ever fall
and when you do
pretend you didn’t
pretend the whole thing was a joke
but nobody will get it and you’ll be eaten
by the fucking lion you rode in on
5
I suppose I’ve always confused depression and boredom.
I can’t count on anything to settle in this state. It’s all
“up in the air.” And that’s a good place to be, especially
when you’re afraid of falling. From the back of the room,
to the front, that’s not a good way to go, either. No one wants
to notice you, and no one wants to have any fun, either. It’s
easy to tell with the things people fill their heads: Poetry, News,
Politics, Philosophy, Theory, and Death. Well, I don’t really
know how much they think about these things, but I can tell
you one thing, They, are always thinking about these things
and they make life very boring and depressing for you and me.
They go on and on and on from the front of the room about
all these heady things making my head spin and my stomach
sick and I say, I yell, from the back of the room I scream,
“If I wanted to go to the County Fair, if I wanted to hear
some bad music, if I wanted to be turned upside down again
and again on the Zipper, I’d not have gone there in the first
place,” and, strange, how I’m there, in the Imperial Valley
County Fair, chipping my teeth on candied apples and feeling
my skin pull against me on the Gravitron, seeing all the animals,
and by animals, I mean the fat furry people of the Imperial Valley,
walking around giggling like there’s something so fucking funny
about any of this.
Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I don’t get it. It’s hot as hell, the sun
is beating down and we’re filling ourselves with junk
like chocolate covered frozen bananas and pop
before we put ourselves amongst the smell of pig shit
and throw our bodies all around. You know, right, that Gravity
didn’t intend this abuse. But what do I know. I’m afraid,
always, that gravity will stop.
Then where will you be? I guess you’ll be on top.
And I’ll be underneath you.
But I did not expect this poem to get to sex so early.
We’ll talk about the Fair later. When we’ve got more time
for trivial things. We’ll talk about the state and poetry
and theory and philosophy, more, later, trust me, when
I can balance my checkbook and we’ve got more time
for trivial things.
I guess we’ll talk later.
6
a robotic megaphoned voice outside says, “Dada,
Dada, Dada,”
and it’s because of you people
that I can no longer think
it’s a child
calling for its father
in this state
that I’ve been in all my life,
and yes, that’s California,
in this state
of boredom
that I’ve not yet learned to know as depression
from this bottom of the well
I can see the water-drinkers
roam
along the periphery of the circle of light
above me
and I float
in water
because of this thing called “buoyancy”
though
I don’t trust that either
and I will eventually sink
when I get tired
as I always sink when I tire
and I tire of your face
I tire of your words
and I’m tired,
so fucking tired of this state, the state,
the state from which I began with and
which will force me to claim a stake
in sobriety
at some point
for the reasoning it has placed upon me
with a great weight
7
has lead my leaded head
with an overwhelming
drunkenness
leaving me floating
here
in the bottom of the well that I,
of course, did not dig, and I don’t think you did
either,
but I’ve no proof, well, except that, well,
I’m pretty sure that none of us are digging any
of the wells we’re drinking from
we’re just lucky
in finding them
some might call it smart
and why not
I don’t believe in luck
but I do believe in the lucky
and you’re probably lucky
we’re all lucky
it just depends on which kind
of luck you have
unfortunately, it’s getting quiet now
in this well
and stupid me,
instead of drinking from it, I fell in it
8
now there’s a cat outside
and it’s lonely
in the gutter of some city, my city, I’ll give you
one guess which one, there’s a cat
rubbing up again Post Office boxes
and concrete trash receptacles and screaming,
it’s screaming, “I do not want your thoughtful
processes, I do not want your singing voices,
I do not want your poetries, and I do not want
anything, but I do not want to be lonely.”
That’s what that cat outside the window
on the city street is saying.
That cat, that shadow of noise, is in my state,
and I am in its.
But none of us began this, and, thank god,
neither of us can take credit.
9
From where shall we begin,
from which state do we each have offices,
and yet, I do believe, we each have offices
in each state
even if we only have houses
in one
where we’ll retire
or where we’ll reside
for the time being
the time being something that I’m sure you treasure
and that’s why you waste it
accordingly
from the offices
of every state
vacationing
from your houses
of solitary state
one state
well,
I don’t believe it
anyway
I don’t think you can have all your houses in one state
and who stated that, anyhow , who said that first
who said your houses can all be on one island
do you think you’ve created yourself
a little paradise
a little slice of heaven
well, you haven’t because your houses
a r e s p r e a d o u t
all over
and you’re nothing special
because so are everyone else’s
they’re all a mess all
with no housecleaners
10
and no real upkeep
when’s the last time you looked at your rain gutters?
I’m no one to speak
but I think
that these
floating houses
that move all across our states
are something to be wary of
something
also
that we shouldn’t be seeing if we were more evolved
at least
if we were closer to being a ball of light and energy
and not these messy noisy disgusting bodies
these houses floating all around
and pushing
you
out
it’s embarrassing
almost as embarrassing
as falling from the lion
you rode in on
in front of an audience
because you thought it’d be smart
or fun
or whatever
but no one no longer cares
and it’s gone,
oh, yeah, it’s gone.
11
drinking alone
in a room
brings one
to a thought
of nothing
which is
the state
where we
all began
floating
kicking
and punching
such violence
in a small room
above city streets
dumb music
so much noise
that doesn’t speak
ANYTHING
which we listen to
over and over
until we hear NOTHING
so I wander around in circles
in this small room
of vacuumed noise
turning on
the radio
and the TV
to blank screens
and dead air
waiting for the ceiling to cave in
and the trees in the sidewalks to uProot
the cars to jump up
the asphalt to rot
and our bodies to float
waiting for all
12
once again
to be cast haphazardly
mildly catastrophically
into the heavens
once again
with nothing which
to orbit a r o u n d
13
WITH all these houses in all these states
how is it possible
to keep track
which are the houses worth returning to and/ WHICH STATE—
and how about all this clutter
so many houses housing so many nicknacks
and every time you turn the faucet on
you’re just surprised that the water runs
and it’s clean,
well, usually,
sometimes when it floods around these houses
things back up
and the water goes brown as bodies
float down
down
down the streets of New Orleans
and other places
of neglect where bodies are not kept
beneath the first level of sod or the second
and so they’re buried in concrete up in the air
and so they are used to floating and don’t notice
and, no, it’s not true, what you’ve heard,
New Orleans is the least haunted
of all the very haunted American cities,
at least,
that’s what I think
they think something different but they’re in a different state
and,
wait,
so am I,
it’s hard to keep track though how do I try though I’m often
flowing with water
because I live in this body in a house in a state
which state
it doesn’t matter
what matters is we’re matter and that’s what matters
you should write that down
that’s “quotable” material
material
14
the sound from the street outside of all my houses
sometimes it’s a road
sometimes it’s distance but the distance is filled
there’s always something there
running alongside my windows in the wind
there’s nothing to be scared of
just a need to be more organized
really, all your houses and no system just a random
display of moments-from-moment-to-moment
a real grasp of impulse
all these houses in all these states
and how
far
the
jump
so often
so easily
made
15
don’t get me started on gravity
I’ve heard the scientists and the rationalists
but I really fear the world will just stop spinning
and like a quickly halted car we’ll all go violently
thru the windshield of air and atmosphere with all the
debris we and nature have left on the earth being torn
apart bit by bit, in the sky, on the cusp of
outer space, our useless human bodies exploding
like starbursts in an already brightly lit summer day
and then we’ll all be space junk
floating and thoughtless as the huge chunks of rock
that surround us
and then, of course, the Earth will blow up and there won’t be
a single remnant of us,
we’ll all just be gone along with the concept of history
gone, gone,,,
I know what the scientists and the rationalists say
but, somehow, this is a lot more fun,
and, really, when you think about it,
a lot more realistic
16
I have heard of “bloodless coups”
just like you, I’ve heard of them on the news
and then I forget them
until I hear of later deaths
these things that drift over the wires
from other states to this state to whatever state
I’m inhabiting and whatever that state may be
is how I will ingest the news of these far-off deaths
from these “bloodless coups” and yes, I know
these coups are sometimes and often necessary
and these coups are a state action by the inhabitants,
sometimes, of the state,
and I get excited when I see a bunch of citizens
storming their government buildings and those that
are armed around them just let them, throw their
explosives and guns down, uncharged, and, yes,
I see no blood on my TV screen because they
today have not hurt themselves and today
I have not hurt myself or anyone else
so there is not a drop of blood on my TV screen
and today, today,
I feel good
17
at the well, or in the well, with the well drinkers
well into their third or fourth cup drinking well, doing
well, we’re all doing, yes, we’re all doing very well,
whether we’re in the well or around its edges dipping in
again and again with stupid smiling wet faces
we’re doing well, alright, we’re doing well,
well, well, well
well, fortunately, the well, all the wells, have been
well-dead for sometime now
for so long
in fact
that most have forgotten completely about them
so when we find them
they seem new again
despite the mineral buildup between our teeth
and how well the water is already depleted
in the well
but,
we get a fresh sense of being!
well, for the time being
most of us
are just hoping not to be frauds
and the rest are too caught up in it to care
speaking from the front of the room with minerals
glistening well into their teeth as their lips
stretch, really pull back, and they smile
with freshly wetted mouths
as little sparkles fly from their tongues
that we ride on
until,
after the show,
we’re well
ready for the real stuff
where we all just get drunk and fuck
18
this state is like a bass line waiting to shake me from my place
(I always want to dance but am always ashamed)
it always is and is not always because the STATE is California
—some running leg kicking up sand in the face,
my face,
the one who hates the beach,
or, doesn’t pay much mind to it but likes it when it passes it,
but that’s as far as the beach and I go.
we’ve no relationship, you see
the state of our well-being is based on mutually mild appreciations.
the beach, and it’s ocean, appreciate me for not populating them,
often,
and, I, in turn, appreciate the happenstance of their beauty.
from time to time I’ll even walk along them,
along the state line—
the border of California and ocean water
and nobody but surfers, and boaters,
and shark-eaten bodies,
the dead that wash up
from time to time
into
placement.
I’ll walk along the line
careful to keep my sandy shoes dry
and think, “Thank you, Beach, and, Thank you, Ocean,
you’ve done me a world of good
by being in my periphery
19
except
when you’re not,
especially you, Ocean, you’re my favorite,
I love,
especially,
how you mimic the sound of cars
on city streets
when it’s late at night and cars are nowhere to be seen.”
I love beauty.
I love it so much I love to keep it always at an arm’s length.
If my arm we’re at least 20 yards.
I’m always in the wake of beauty,
hoping not to wake up,
or
fall off.
I’ll stay in some close room. Closed. Off.
20
I would like to make a statement I meant
my state, the state which I now inhabit
has little to do with choosing and more
to do with accident, much like my balance,
which is dictated by gravity, I do not try
to stay standing in the same way I do not
try to fall down, except for when I do but
mostly I don’t have to remember to breathe
and stay standing.
I guess what I would like to say is that what
I have to say has nothing to do with me, and
that is my PERSONAL statement, I meant,
really, that I have nothing to say and when
you think I do it is not really me but the
STATE which speaks for me.
Which is to say, I guess, I have no meant-for-state.
I get what I get and I have no power over when it rains.
It’s like this:
HERE’S MY STATEMENT:
21
My name is unimportant and neither is my place
meant to mean anything, from where I stand or sit
I’m at the back or the front or the middle, you’d
notice just the same, but it’s always the BORDER
isn’t it? Yes, it is. Good answer. It’s the areas we
straddle crookedly, balanced. But we fall
because of gravity,
because of luck,
and because of love or loss. It’s inevitable. And then
you
drop. Drop. Drop. Lemondrop. Cherrydrop. Belly-flop.
You’ll be in pain or ecstasy, and you’ll not know which,
until it’s over.
Glad for the statement, I made. I don’t know now
which direction I’ll take,
or how my face will look, in the morning. I often find
myself more tired after waking up, than before going to sleep,
and I always wake up with my face
not looking
the way it did
before I fell to sleep.
22
I would like to state, first, that I did not start this.
Oh, have you heard? You’ve heard. You know better than
I did,
when I started this thing that I did not start it. Well, good for you,
I wish you’d told me first.
But, no matter, we’ll go on, in this matter, our matter,
this body we have that just won’t quit, till it does,
just like anything.
I, like you, have a place in the ground that will eventually turn to nothing.
You’ve been involved in the eternal,
and, wow,
now,
it’s already over.
Because in your head, which is at the top of your body,
that fleshy country,
you’ve finally gotten a clue, about how there is nothing new
and your face is just a replica and a collage of those
that came before you and went to rest in the dirt.
Of course we’ll all be ash. But when there’s no head,
what does it matter?
It’s like getting lots of sex and no foreplay. What’s the point?
You miss out when you get no head, when you’ve got no head,
when you have no head to give.
A headless scarecrow scares no crow from his state of
headlessness because crows don’t know about bodies,
and states of bodies. But they know well that you can’t see
them eating all of your corn and ruining all of the fields
in your state because you have no head to see the
distances that stretch before you, and beneath you, and
go on and on and on until you realize that you’re hung
up on a cross, and you’ll say, “No, it’s not my fault. I have
no more power over this than I do the laws of gravity. And
the fact that my fists don’t make fists is nothing to say of me.
I’m nothing in the land of crows that crawl and caw on me. I’ve
23
got a lot of hay, but none in my head, no direction, and no
one to run along the gold bricked roads the STATE has laid
beneath me. Well, at least, the gold-bricked roads the STATE
has said they’ve laid beneath me. What do I know when my
feet don’t touch the ground, I’ve had no head, for so long, and
all my limbs are nailed down? What do I say? I say, you’re right,
you’re right, you’re right…”
I said, get down, stupid, but it has no ears to hear me.
If I could run for president, I would be.
I’m smart though I haven’t advanced, or evolved,
and I’ve got a certain quiet charm
that no one can take away from me.
Well, it depends. But I’d like to crawl into all of your heads,
and stay,
for just a while.
I’ll only push things around for the first few minutes,
before I settle.
I must be comfortable.
Though, that, too, seems like something out of my control.
But in your head I could be read and I could read to you. I could
read for you, in fact, the Constitution—which Constitution
will be your call,
but only after I’ve done all that I want
to
in your head
bouncing around
from ear to ear
doing backflips
putting on
the lightning
and lighting
and tripping myself fantastic for your
inward pleasures,
before I can jump
out
to my
early demise
24
and your
“eternal”
sorrow.
Don’t worry, it won’t be that sad,
or, even, nearly as sad as the time
you cried
over reality television. That,
that,
that was a bad time. Good thing we have places to go
to get away from that.
I’ve got a little bar, no,
that’s a lie,
I’ve got this bar down the street packed with people,
a big place with a second story,
and none of them know my name or my face,
no,
that’s wrong,
I know that those that are paid to serve me
recognize me
and love me.
They love me the way we love money and I love
a drink in a crowded place
where I have the lights
above my face
and the mirrors
across the bar
reflecting exactly what we, all, right now, are thinking,
and when the beautiful waitress
walks away with my empty glasses,
or the bartender, my good friend,
is avoiding eye contact,
I know that the jukebox,
inevitable as gravity,
will play some familiar song
from Joy Division
or The Smiths
and make all that was right,
wrong,
even though,
Goddammit,
I love those bands.
25
The sirens,
outside
the window
tonight
are infrequent.
And that
leaves me
more worried
than
when they
ring
constant.
I don’t know what to do with myself,
in this quiet noise
of cars and bus-hush
and muffled music
thru the walls
and from the speakers on the desk.
I get so nervous when it’s quiet. I mean,
something’s
SUPPOSED
to happen,
right?
I guess I don’t know, and I learned a long time ago,
that,
I don’t know much as the weather will change
and love will find it’s way
into inconvenient places,
placing itself amongst
dead spaces,
spaces like houses
with rooms and walls. And those walls with bounce
that love around
like Echo does sound. And then leave it behind, back,
26
to rot in the background. And then love
will be gone,
like the last one. You’ll be left alone to find a new
apartment to apart yourself in the newest way possible
only blocks away from your last place placing yourself
in redundant and immature torment, which you cannot
ignore or leave behind, completely, because, right,
we’ve already stated,
you’ve no choice where you end up,
dead,
or,
alive,
in San Francisco,
or Chicago.
It’s best that you don’t drink,
at least,
that way,
and alone,
you hurt no one else,
and you,
yes,
you,
keep the sky from sinking in and sucking us
all out into oblivion into a mist of
greens and yellow
not at all reminiscent of the 1980s
Oakland Athletics,
but eventual losers,
destroying the blue
with explosions
and limbless
endless
extension.
This is not something that can happen
in a ballpark,
because only perfect,
and meant-for-unpredictable-things,
happen,
in a ballpark.
And,
unfortunately, none of us,
27
not even professional baseball athletes,
live
in a ballpark.
It was Superman, and only Superman,
who went spinning off in a diamond.
Trust me,
without baseball,
we’ve no love for each other. And the state
we exist in,
is not the same.
In fact, it doesn’t exist and never did. You’re dead,
and I’m dead, and we’re all dead.
It’s good, though, when you think of it.
Dead.
It all comes to an end. THE STATE has an end.
No matter.
No matter.
No matter where it all began. We have an end. We don’t
have to be creative,
we just have to be us,
which is dumb. And we’ve got an end. A colorful fucking end,
brought on by us, and all of THIS.
28
my body, like yours, has not been retrofitted for EARTHQUAKE SAFETY, and that
worries some. it worries those that care about us. but it’s twofold, because, none of
us can escape the world and the way it shakes; and so we all worry, worry, over each
other and ourselves. I don’t really care, mostly, what happens to me, but I get scared
when I think that I shall die in a terrible explosion that takes you all with me. how
sensitive does that make me? I get sad that when I die you’ll all die with me. it’d be
a terrible experience for everyone around me—still living. and if you expect me to
explain myself, I will say this: I have nothing to speak. You will get nothing out of me.
If I were a government spy I would be the best. Because, really, whatever you tell me
I will find useless to repeat. HOW BORINGis everything? It’s pretty boring and so
why should I bother to repeat it? especially anything I know. I know that everything
I  know  is  dreadfully  boring  and  pretty  much  all  but  completely  useless.  So U.S.
GOVERNMENT, if you’re reading this, and I know that you are, of course, please
consider me for a position in the CIA or FBI or any other cool three-lettered agency
you may have in need of a VOICELESS WONDER. I’ve, sincerely, got nothing to
say, no matter how much you tell me, I’ll still find it pointless to repeat; and so, I
try my hardest NEVERto repeat anything, because, seriously, it’s been my lifelong
endeavor to not bore anybody. I have to say that mostly I’ve done a fine job, but in
some cases where I got too involved. sometimes, despite my STATE, I would start
to talk, and, oh, how that would ruin it. but, I think I’ve got it down, and now I’m
willing to be completely absolved of my feelings and my past; or, at least, I’m asking,
if that’s possible. My house is not at my will and disabled. It hobbles about. it’s in a
fucking story book and not before my feet. I think I’ve no way back because the bread
crumbs were all ate up. Fuck, this is embarrassing. Why do I keep going on?
OH I HEAR THE SIRENS!
They’re outside again. I’d like to wipe their mouths for them, with the contract they
signed away before the State’s SUPREMEcourting.
29
from the hospitalized state, to the unhospitalized body,
Artaud the Cunt fights men off his carcass as God
fills his hair with lice,
and Echo, inside the halls of the body which makes
the spirit a dependent,
is the first to live inside his shell-shocked skull,
repeating the screams before they can exit
the human orifice over the masturbatorily
pleasuring tongue.
and on the map of this state
you will find
a
billboard
of my spleen
stretched out. I’ll call
you from above
the city
in a tiny room
and you’ll call out,
and back,
and up. It’ll be like that
for some time
Guess what?
It’s been like that for some time
and this body
is learned in and lived in
and touched on
and touched up
and walked upon
as it begins
a not-so-slow descent,
and the mind,
dependent on it,
where Echo sits
naked and touching herself,
goes with it.
Maybe Echo only touches herself in the recesses
of my head,
from which state
30
I’m in,
and I’m in a state
quite often
that echoes Echo’s loneliness. And I often love the vain.
And the vein.
The veins behind my eyes are running red, then blue,
and black. Starbursts of bodies, again,
overhead,
in the sunlit sky
losing their minds.
I’ve lost mine, but only sometimes, and that puts me in a different state,
each time. Like time travel, in a way. I’ve gone
so far away, so often, like a boomerang
that puts lines on my skin, on this skin, here.
Over and over again until I’m withered and weathered. They say
it creates character
and so puts you in a book. All of that and this
is what it gets me.
I’ve traveled,
plenty.
I’ve loved only 3 times like I struck at the rock until God
struck me down for striking too much.
And nothing’s really sprung.
I’ve lived in so many states,
mostly,
though, California and Colorado, because I was scared
of the other states
which don’t sound quite so similar in name.
I’ve had contracts with the conscience of these places’
constitutions
of which I agreed with the lawmen
not to do ill-will
to myself,
or the STATE, of which the contract states
has many borders,
mostly on every side. But the catch is:
THEY’RE INVISIBLE!
31
Who knew? And how ridiculous. I have
been lead to believe
that anything I cannot see
cannot stop me.
And so, in this state, I am invincible.
I have an education.
We’ll see how far that gets me.
I took jobs in all places, none of which I ever loved.
And I’ve never worked all that hard. Depending on the state,
it depends on how much I have to give.
And what I’m given.
What will you give me? Will it
be
to touch this body
violently?
Per usual?
As I suspected, the distance I’ve traveled
from Artaud the Cunt
already
speaks volumes,
decibels.
How far I am from God in this state,
today,
and California
out my city window of quiet Sunday
March noise,
is far enough
for my liking. Despiteful.
I’ll look up the map on the Internet,
but forget while I’m walking.
I don’t know.
32
I often don’t know what I’m thinking.
Although the hippies around me like to say it,
it’s impossible to be “mindful”.
That doesn’t make an ounce of sense,
and is completely incorrect, to start with.
Where we started I have left you with nothing to ponder,
but where I left you I let you have what you came with,
which you gave to me,
which you’ll give to me,
and which you’ll take away.
and I’ll give back
like a game of catch. I’ll give you 3 guesses
what it is, but it’s nothing, and you knew it,
and that’s why I’ll forever treasure it, because no one,
not even you, can take nothing away from me, nor I from you.
It’s the perfect situation and union and we should be grateful.
It’s exactly what we deserve, dry humping dry wells
and tongue kissing until at least one of us comes
back,
again and again
to the shadowy
hole
in the ground,
for the love of it and lack.
It’s good to be saturated in it.
33
careful, always, to take a step out your front door,
your ordinary, average, everyday front door,
because the way things move
beneath your feet, beneath the floor,
well,
you never know,
you may open that front door and be 35,000 ft. off the ground
even though
you’ve tried your best to avoid air travel
travel to other states and other countries with their own states
(which some call “provinces”)
is absolutely necessary
for your well-being, and, if you’re special, the well-being
of others,
so you’ve always got to be careful
as what you are
and what you do
is sometimes
very important to others,
of course, if it’s not, I guess you should be careful anyhow
seeing as deathly falls scare everybody
the way houses lift and move and float
the way I often float in dreams
but that takes masterful concentration
before my knees b
e
n
d
and my feet l i f t
from the ground
and it’s more like the ground
is being p u l l e d from me
than I’m being pulled from the ground
and I s l i d e more than I float
into the air
concentrating
hard
to keep my feet up
and my shoulders l e v e l
34
so as to go uP
and go dOwn
the way I should so I can slip beneath
telephone wires
and over building-tops
or slide alongside riverbanks
the key is:
be careful—
no one wants to clean up your bloody mess.
especially me or mine—
but to be a spec in the ether
evolved
crowded, but with so much space.
35
skydivers
carry with them
a heavy weight
on their backs
which they
release
only when they
get close
enough
face to face
with
what’s
really
beneath them
If they don’t
then they meet them
break into them
bounce off of them
and die
Though I’ve heard of a few times
where the skydivers dived
right into the earth
from thousands of feet up and survived
what a ridiculous notion.
36
they definitely should have died.
but they didn’t and they went on to dive. later. again and again.
tempting fate like that, in the end,
will wind up in a gigantic ego, which,
really,
it was, probably, from the start.
go figure. I guess I’m only talking this way because
I have a fear of heights, or, rather, a fear of falling,
because you can never trust what is happening beneath you,
and, furthermore, you can’t really trust yourself, now can you?
You believe in muscle memory and instinct but what if
your history hasn’t trained you for anything
you’re about to
confront?
Because the State of the Union states that everything’s fine
and that we mustmake sacrifices
doesn’t make it true.
Besides, they always say that because, well, it’s better you
than them,
right?
Right.
[I got into tussles when I was in junior high and high school.
I got into a few. Usually
it ended up with one fallen and one standing, and both
later,
asking,
“Did it look like I won?”
Like you had a choice.
37
the headless scarecrow dallies up to the fanged lion
and asks for a ride
“Can you get me,
from HERE
to
THERE?”
“I can take you anywhere, really,
but,
tell me,
why would you want to go there?”
it begins like this and goes on. seriously. on and on and on.
no joke.
no pun.
no punchline to break your ugly fucking yellow teeth. you should
THINK,
sometime,
about how those fucking things affect others. Have you
no fucking shame?
You fucking make me sick, and when I’m in this state
I’m capable of anything.
But we’ve gone over that and now I’m still conversing
with the fucking invisible,
OF WHICH I ALREADY STATED HAS NO POWER OVER ME!
But I’m not invincible. Or, at least, I’m as invincible as you.
And I want to break your face. Really. And it will break.
38
ALWAYS THE MIDDLE
a cycle
sickle
a moon in your eye
how beautiful you used to be to me
the way the ocean used to be
till it got t o o close to me
but it wasn’t my fault
I cannot choose my desires
just as much
as I cannot choose to love you
and I don’t
I’m sorry, I wish I would, could
I wish I did
but I’m not talking to the same invisible being
ever,
am I?
always moving back and forth between you, and you, and YOU
I have no way of making any of you special,
and that,
that there is part, no,
that there is the whole fucking problem
If none of you are special, then I’m equally ordinary
digging for the same old news we’ve chewed on
like clove-flavored bubblegum
flinching from the taste,
but going on
repeating, repeating, repeating, because we’ve
become nothing less than the beat,
we’ve lost the melody
39
but if we’re all going tone-deaf, I guess
we’ve got to take pleasure in something.
If you do it,
I’ll do the same.
got to keep the string attached
THE THREAD
of being
not meaning
no meaning there’s no fucking meaning there’s only BEING
and I’M BEING: reluctant
but only temporarily to the fact that the room spins around
my FUCKING head
and not the other way around
in the background the sharks simmer
they sift thru the audience’s hair and play word games
and road games
and games that
no one else, really, could give a shit about
but their teeth and their strength make them important
so we’ll pay attention for a while
and hope they forget about us
and then we’ll keep
putting together the pieces
piecing together the faces
which we love
which we hate
which get to hang on our walls
40
which go in the foyer
which go in the stairway
which pictures go in the hall
and who
who
gets the bathroom?
what matters here is that no one goes unseen
in this place
where we’ve all been it’s no longer a place
to sit and wait
you get your business done then you’re gone
where the gravel kicks you in the face you find
yourself mistaken
not such luck
NO
“no”
such luck
such luck
to be in the air among the living
everything
so fucking AMERICAN
oh god! the open fucking road! the highways!
oh god!
oh god!
oh my fucking god!
please be with me by my side when I orgasm from this
absolute fucking pleasure.
41
It’d be no good otherwise. So much mess and no
one
for me to clean up.
42
the circus in your head from every word I’ve previously fed directly into your head, I
hope, I do, that your mouth moved along all the words, moving you here, with me,
next to me, beside me, with me, and there’s no escaping now, not now that you’ve
begun, here at the banister all the way to the ocean, from the ocean all the way to the
highway, from the great highway, all the way up the hill, and then where?
then where?
I’ve got no where else to go. Please tell me what’s next.
There’s a whole hole a whole lot of unreadable maps. My ignorance,
preceeds,
me.
What have you got?
Lost.
Terrible? No. Distance.
Just distance.
Doesn’t matter, really, does it, where the sun sets? It sets.
Will set,
does set the table for those beneath it. Those
beneath
it, always manage. Families feed what’s theirs.
Caretakers take care of what’s left.
Pieces of people, everywhere. Everywhere.
Goddammit, the roundness of everything has got to be some kind of joke.
Nothing’s that easy.
Especially when left in these awkward states: This body,
these square houses we all hide behind with square
front lawns and square backyards and square cars
to match our square politicians and governments, not matching
the cyclical
repetition,
43
of our
E V E R Y D A Y
lives,
lived every day, much like the last, and OH how we count
vividly
and lividly
on those different STATES
to give us
SOMETHING
d I f f e r e n t from all of THIS
[by the way, you’re in it, right
now, and this is
it,
you won’t get much more of it,
just that of it which is left,
and then where will you be,
and then where will I be,
and how much then will have changed?
I’ll give you a guess:
It would have been another nice rhyme
to go
into this.
--But I’ll stay away from that right now.]
It’s simply
not as easy
as being
a part
of the animal kingdom—which we are, dipshit,
and don’t you forget it.
God, sometimes,
I just want to hit you right in the face.
44
floppy-headed,
you’re drunk again. AND GOOD!
WHAT THE FUCK?
what have you got to lose? I would like
you NOW
to take a look
at YOURSELF.
TAKE
A
LOOK
and tell me what you see. Tell me,
when you know
what you see, what is it that you see. The problem
is
I can wait forever and you may NEVER
give me
any kind of answer.
But it doesn’t matter.
Your matter
is better left
for the earth
to figure out
than for
the grey
matter
between
each
of
our
useless
ears.
Who’s got the time?
It’s 12:59a.m. Hell,
it’s already
tomorrow.
45
The problem
with states
is deciding
which one
you’re in.
And since I’m American,
I,
at any time,
have at least 50,
(51, 52, who’s counting?)
which are
always
exponentialized
by the millions
of what
each state
affects.
Seems pretty pointless for useless pedestrians to strain
themselves
over the equations,
but I can’t help myself,
because I wish to damage myself,
a million times over
for whatever damage
damage my country offers
offers gives me chances
chances to damage this fruitless skin left hanging on
on the wooden crucifixes in the middle of some
some empty
cornfield
nothing to scare nothing to be scared by
nothing to live by no creed no honor
nothing written over my head
46
and nothing to bleed from
the dead speak and, yes, when they speak,
they often speak in different tongues than the ones we’ve
grown accustomed to, but the customs at the front gate
in costumes are asking now for my ID and I don’t
think I have anything real to show them so
I do not know what will happen to me:
CHANCES ARE I’LL BE BURIED
JUST LIKE THE REST BENEATH
THE BUILDING
IN WHICH I STAY
FOR THE TIME BEING
UNTIL I MOVE
OVER OTHER BODIES
DEAD AND BEATING
BENEATH MY FEET
SICKLY MOVING
TILL MY TONGUE TICKLES
SWEETLY
It’s cute when this happens
There’s a sweetness in the desperate,
the grotesque
the malformed misfortunate the misformed
earth plate
the earthquake
that will
kill
thousands
just like they say.
But you don’t know what you’re saying and you’re
a completely
incomparable—distance…
the past is a lot like my face. It used to be so expressive,
now it’s hard to tell the difference,
47
and it’ll be a long time
before
I ever see it.
All I know is that there’s a street below my window
and people
are moving down there. They’ve got lives worth
dollars and cents , and they’ve got people worth more than that.
Something
to grasp at
in the dark.
Patience, I’m told. Patience.
It’s hard to have patience when you think you want everything,
but know
you do not know
what you want
if
anything.
How I’ve lost interest in what I’ve loved.
How the Sacramento sun shone over flat land shone
thru the chainlink
over the same empty parking lots,
grass fields of dying dandelions
and bread factories.
Roadways
when the sun is sinking.
The light
sinking,
dusty
and indescribable. But there’s no need since both you
and I have seen it.
No use for me to tell you anything. That’s exactly why when
you and I speak,
I try to keep things interesting, knowing, there’s nothing,
NOTHING
48
I can say that you haven’t heard before. I just want to keep things
entertaining. I just want to keep myself there, because it
feels good. Or best
Sometimes it feels best just being entertained.
If you or I am the monkey dancing, what difference does it make?
And who makes the call?
Neither will give either a lift. And neither
will give
either
a cause.
You’ll immerse yourself in nature because It’s there.
You call it natural and I’ll call it despair and we’ll
both make a hell of a lot of noise about the Line
drawn
in
the
sand.
|
What’s the difference?
49
And what’s this to do with love?
All of it. And none of it. And both plus
2 and 3 times 6 and 9 all at the same time.
Figure that equation,
and call me up
on a Saturday night
with the
sound
of yells and yelps
and random screams of joy
lifting up
form the asphalt
below me.
Then pull my skin out from the sand from which they made it.
50
A NOTE FOR YOU:
As  you  may  have  noticed,  I  like  to  be  clear.
I  like  to  speak  clearly.  Plus,  I  really  enjoy
talking to you so I thought that I should be
clear with you. I like to pull the visible from
the invisible because I really don’t appreciate
getting  fucked  with.  No  matter  how  bloody
the matter may be. I’ll do it. For you. For me.
For whoever has eyes to see what I see have
seen  will  see  do  see  in  this,  that  This  before
us. Sometimes, because of how much I enjoy
our dialogue, when I say “you,” I sometimes
am addressing you, directly. But, sometimes,
I’m talking to myself, sometimes, I mean “I”.
And sometimes when I say “I,” sometimes I’m
talking to you or them. And sometimes when
I’m talking to them what I really mean is “us”.
Where I come from there is sometimes a you
in  the  them  right  in  the  There  with  the  Us.
We are sometimes simple but often plentiful,
but sometimes, also, downright selfish. I guess
it  depends  on  where  we’re  coming  from,  or
where  we’re  going,  gone,  or  what  it  is  we’re
really saying, right? I’m sure you understand
my  point.  What  I’m  driving  at,  and  where
the road that’s beneath all of this is leading—
lines  divide  Everything.  Often  right  down
the middle. /And there’s always the horizon.
A watery mirage. Blurring whatever it is you
look into. Like I said (LOOK INTO THIS)
I like to be clear and I like to read road signs
from time to time. Often I’ll read them to You
or Them. It depends on who I Love and what
moment  moments.  —It  depends  on  how
much gas is left in the tank, and it depends on
the weather and landscape who the speaker is
and what the listener is willing to take. Don’t
fall  off.  Not  here.  Don’t  fall  off,  anywhere,
especially at the Bus Station, because someone
somewhere is more than willing to break your
fucking  neck.  With  a  chicken  bone  in  their
own throat. Twitched.
51
I’m the speaker, now, and that’s why you’re listening.
That’s right, I’m at the front of the room and I can see all of you
in your underwear
in the seats before me.
Unfortunately, I’m still not finding it funny.
Besides, what I have to say you’ve said to each other already,
and you’ve also said it to me, right before I said it to you, and
right after you’ve already said it to me, but before someone else
told you what you had you thought you had to say to me.
It’s over. From the beginning. The end is no end. The
end (it’s stupid, I know)
is the beginning, thus,
no beginning. We’re only ending. And doing, I think, a damn fine job.
52
It’s Wednesday, March 28, 2007. Wednesday, the only day
I can make myself
come to this. Bring myself to this. The only time this brings
me to it. And, I’ll admit, I cannot do this, without
my two bottles of red wine. I do not know how to come to this state
any longer,
for this communiqué, which we began so long ago—
now , nothing , unless I’m alone and drinking. But my desperate
notions
are only
available when I find my Wednesdays, alone,
with my wine.
I was in a state , very recently , convinced , by my age and by
the daylight and days, that I should stop smoking. That state
of being
was shortlived.
I have no control over anything and that’s how it goes.
So it goes and goes and goes. And I’m happy with it—
in a way.
To have no control is the same as saying,
“I’m at the mercy of gravity. I’d like to be
in another state,
another state— perhaps, Louisiana,
or Michigan,
but my feet are firmly stuck to the ground. Like lead,
my meat
is stuck
to my circling bones , growing r i n g s bythe m i n u t e ,
and I’m often felled in the courtyard
of someone else’s. That someone is often..
I’m often in the shadow
of the sun because I am the moon, just a bit of the earth
that broke off
a long time ago
and could find nothing better to do than circle the thing
it separated from.
How hard it is for me to leave anything behind.
How difficult it is for me to forget, though I have
a very hard time remembering anything.
53
How often I crawl back on my belly to what has left me,
or what I’ve left
over and over again.
And always thirsty. Always empty. Always a
rain garden
of
trust.
TRUST ME.
I’ll not be anything.
like what I was before. This eeevolution is caused by
time and the rings ringing my fucking bones. How
they s h u d d e r
with each second, the Quakeinside turns my stomach, time and again. But I wish
for nothing less. Than that moment. When
I’m
in it, and I’m not remembering. And I’m not forgetting.
But I never get it.
The ocean is outside my window again. This
perfect Wednesday. The feet are spanking the concrete.
The windows are turning on and off and the faces
are quickly, and with little sound, disappearing.
With the closing of my blinds, it’s all gone. And when
I’m asleep like death
I hear none of it.
The borders of my body are firmly shaped. That’s why
when I wake
in the morning
I hate
the way
I sleep.
54
The hope I have is that the passion is safely protected by the constitution.
I’ve no guarantees, of course, in this state of martial arrest. The way
THE STATES
all change
almost
from day to day. And come on again like nothing happened.
Their shapes haven’t changed
in my lifetime.
But that doesn’t change a thing about the way
things change. And you know what I mean by things,
in the states,
the household names,
the burglary of pieces of bodies the way they’re resting
now
against curbsides
and barricades and humungous vehicles plated with
heavy melted metal.
How the violent can dig their own grave when the violence
wasn’t theirs in the first place, from the state
though
there’s no choice,
really. And ACTION is the only way. Of course, ACTION
is always the only way. We’d not be here if it wasn’t
for ACTION
in our speech and movies and history and the way we walk
into one another on the street and piss each other off.
Buttoned up, scarecrow-heads keep a pretty composure.
I like mine leaning slightly to the left but sometimes it
gets knocked around because of fit and I’m fitted,
often, with a new set of button-eyes and a new pair
of teeth. They fall out like there’s no tomorrow and I’m
tired of picking them up from the gutter and carrying them
all the way home to my new apartment.
55
Some of them are sharp and cut my hands. You know
how it is. I’ve got some of your teeth in my mouth
right now, though they don’t really stick. So I roll them around
with my tongue and push them back in. I’d give them
back, seriously, if I were ever to see you again. But,
chances are, I’d hardly recognize you. Then what’s my
reason? Like I said, I have a bad memory. Actually,
what is it I just said? I don’t even recall what happened
a few lines ago.
It’s time to move on. That’s what we all say. That’s why
I kiss you on the lips
before I spit up blood
each time
I see you on the street.
56
if you want to talk to me
you should talk to me
you should tell me something I haven’t heard before
and I guess I haven’t heard a lot
but somehow
you’ve got nothing new to say
and my face shows it every time we meet.
just don’t fake it
it’s fine
really
don’t tryto impress me
just keep me around and show me things
again
even
that’s fine
just give me a chance at experience and give
me
something
a spark
a little tickle under the tongue
like fluffy sugary frosting
God how that makes me sick,
but it sends a shiver thru my whole body
and, God, how I so very easily remember it
much like
a funny bone
57
tingle
and so completely different
from sex
when you’re having none of it
for a while
it
again
is a complete mystery
and
of course
there’s nothing like it and nothing can
make you remember it
like having it
and then you have it
and there you have it
and you then forget what it’s like not to have it
while forgetting exactly what it’s like
until you’re having it
then losing it
immediately
after
there’s nothing like living for blurry memories
you can’t live without
re-fulfilling
58
How many states do I inhabit, my insatiate state doubled-over in?
I’m a very co-dependent member
of this state—
I’d feel ashamed, except I’m
incorporated, begg’ed, and sLogan’ed.
I’d be lost, absolutely lost on my own.
And I don’t deal wellwith loneliness.
It’s possiblemy disposition
can cause earthquakes.
And I fear that. I feel the earth
trembling for me,
when, I, the moon,
used to be a part of it.
But I’m not the moon and it’s really,
really stupid to talk like that.
I can’t help it. I shake at night
and I wonder where the timeline grows.
There were so many of them left
in the skin of the dead that bread mine.
Sometimes I see them
in my sleep. Half-faced moon.
The taste of dead grapes lingers.
A purple marker for each.
The dying scent
of purple.
Get in line. The scent
of drying air.
59
I’ve never crawled out
of this state
past the barbwire
into the spotlight,
under belly
of gravity,
my mooning
crevice,
but I’ll try
my damnedest.
60
It’s Thursday, and here I am again making a Big Liar of Myself.
So be it. Sometimes lies are accepted as something New.
Pound it in!
But I’d never lie to you. Not You. You’re special.
The air in here hasn’t yet grown old and the sky outside
has just turned to night. We can prepare ourselves
for the morning,
when the sun rises and bodies begin moving. Not like
the ones moving now
like corpses beneath my window. I’d let you look now, too, if you were here.
We could stare down on the dead from here. It’s
all I see and it stretches out for miles. Just bodies, bodies,
floating down the dark and orange street, with no faces— though,
quite frankly, each voice is very distinct.
No, we’ll prepare like we do for the morning when the bodies
do not move like they do in the dark. Like yours would
right now, if you were here with me, how your body could
and did and would move with me, under me and over me,
and how the turning over and over again would always
be accepted. Like Day and Night.
Look, I can see no stars now from this window with
the city washing out everything that is alive beneath its rooftops.
The dead are
all I see,
all I hear
for this time being.
If you were here I’d close the blinds and turn the stereo up
loud , despite my neighbors , and everything would be fine.
The way people fall apart outside, it would be of
no m a t t e r
to us.
The way stars form and burst above us
forming New universes
61
and New gravities
would be
of no consequence.
The way things begin and end mean nothing when
you convince yourself
that time doesn’t exist. And that’s easier to do
when I’m in your hands.
Watching the dead is a lonely act. Though, I try not to complain.
Though complaining I am, in this.
And when the mirror breaks I’ll call you forth from the back
of the room,
in a genuine beggar
manner.
Despite the lights
in your face,
you’ll not be able to resist.
Sometimes in a poorly lit room I go faceless and get lost.
But my voice
is charming and warm
in the dark—
you will hear it. And you will come.
You’ll find your way from the stage to the empty seat
beside me, the seat empty because its previous
occupant
couldn’t stand to speak to something unseen. And when
the occupant of your seat had been there, I had a lot,
a lot to say. You’ll
place yourself beside me, in the empty seat next to me,
and you’ll learn to hate me
for bringing you forth from the light
to the back
of a poorly lit room
to someone with nothing,
nothing now to say.
And how I’d suddenly lost control of my vocal cords. How
they
involuntarily say ridiculous things that I didn’t think of before
62
they were voiced. Things like, “I’m a passenger in the
driver’s seat. You’re a passenger with a wheel in your heel.
Pass on the right. No. Left. No. Forget. It. Don’t. Pass.
You’re not likely to get
where you were going. I’m in a mess and
I’ve completely forgotten
how to read a map. You got here, didn’t you? From
the front of the room to the back. You must be
just as bad
at directions as me. Who told you to come back here?
Who?
Me? HA! HA!
I hardly think I’d do such a thing. Besides,
I don’t even know you and I don’t recall your face. It’s
entirely new to me.
That’s something,
completely
unfamiliar
to me.
You cannot blame me for anything. I did not bury your
dead
in floating graves, and I did not have anything
to do
with the way flesh forms around bones. The way
buildings go up, and down, or the way
bodies
dry up
in the ground. I’m at a loss for words, really, so I don’t
know why I’m speaking
so many of them to you. Useless how we get along
this way. I’d rather a fire-engine siren
came out of my mouth every time I open it up,
and my eyes to light up with red spiral spinning,
so those around me would just shut their ears and mouths
and I could wash you out. But I have,
I have
no such luck
in Auditoriums,
I guess.”
It gets cold, too, with the gush of air that rushes in
every time the door swings open.
Fortunately, it doesn’t open often enough.
63
And the faceless bodies around us, mostly,
just shudder and grunt.
64
OK
well,
enough of this and now for THE TRUTH:
the truth is there are no states
NO STATES
NONE
just imaginary lines and bodies
to govern them
and each are easily forgettable
and easily replaceable
and easily lost
remember there was a line that got you straight from HERE to THERE
but how was that?
there’s no telling
and who’d want to
most times you’d like to forget, anyway
but getting back to the place you were at you were probably
forgotten
and
lost
and replaceable
they probably put you on the front lines of the battlefield
or the company line
or the phone line
until your head fell off from all the fronting
you’re decapitated by the pace you’ve kept
and from the state of this state you’re at
you were never in in the first place
because
you know
it never existed
it was made up and all things made up are in the Head
and one day the Head
will spill
it all
65
o u t
and we’ll spell it all o u t
into a comprehensive and informative instruction
manual
and call it
UNIVERSAL HEALTH CARE
or
it may be called
DR. ATKINS
or something
but we haven’t gotten there yet
;we’re trying to leave
this state
which state
this state
behind
in which we try to explain EVERYTHING
there’s not time for it and I’ve no time to keep on going
along
these
imaginary lines worrying where I’m going and where I’m at
and least of all
where
I’ve been
there’s just no going over that
again
nothing worth telling except that while I was there
I had some good times
like the time
we actually left the house to walk around and look at
the city’s architecture and the flowers in the park
blooming and the light from the late-evening summer sun
before eating Chinese food in the Sunset
and going home to get completely drunk
to some television light or a movie with the sun setting
and going to bed early
66
quiet
tired
and cozy
to make love in the slated light of the city thru the blinds
and all the sirens
going on and on
and off
again
throughout the city’s
seated hallways
in between the cries the screeches and the yells
in between the times gone lost and the time we found
where
we had
found time
for
time
for once
67
THIS IS ALL AN EFFORT TO LEAVE THIS STATE BEHIND
when in my state the current population thinks
it’s best to place a bad actor in place of a governor
again and again as they’ve done so before
I begin to think
that my head
which is ready to spill
should spill here
and there’s no reason I should be thinking in here
in the first place
I’ve placed myself
outside the rest
of the lines governing me
like this poetry
I have not yet read it but I’m sure it’s fantastic
and completely in control of me
the way my head moves and my hands move
and I’m still here greeting you
from the back of the room
is EXACTLY why
I’m trying to get out of here
it gets desperately tiresome and OLD
like so much of this has if you’ve been paying attention
and you’ve paid some time
to be included in my time which is
being spent like quarters to the city bus
that pushes me down
the same line
day in/ day out
and all before and after I see the line
broke
by the sun
either in the morning
68
or the late afternoon
feeling like I should have gone somewhere else
a l o n g t i m e a g o
because I put myself here where things are easy
or, rather, I brought myself back after leaving it because
it’s easy to move along the same lines
all throughout
the entire BOOK
and so I came back to this city
my occupation
and you
occupied by not paying attention and losing the luster
I once had
for all which I left behind
the same way I now am longing
for the luster of longing
Logan Ryan Smithis publisher/ editor of
TRANSMISSION PRESS, and the poetry
magazine, small town. He is author of The
Singers (Dusie  Press)  and Stupid  Birds
(Transmission Press). A chapbook,Tracks,
is  forthcoming  from  ypolita  press,  and
his  long  poem, A  Ring  of  Trumpet  Brass,
was  published  as  a  booklet  by  House
Press. Other poetry has appeared in New
American Writing, Bombay Gin, Spell, BOTH
BOTH, string of small machines, Hot Whiskey
Magazine, the tiny, Mrs. Maybe, Mirage #4/
Period(ical),and elsewhere. Two of his short
stories were published in Hobart. He is from
San Francisco, and now lives in Chicago.
photo © 2010 Catherine Scully