Inter Idem
Dual-mirrored processing
ethernet paradiso
til nothing do us part
beat my stilling heart
I have seen the best minds
of my generation grow out
of the much-coveted 18-
34 year-old male category
to get laid
in the Biblical sense
I am not idempotent
no matter what I say
Like a playoff game or
twisted plot ends the same
if you check your watch
or talk to those inside you
or finding an old friend
in new clothes who never
reminded you of himself
the picture believed
to be real
if not authentic
If the cells change
to accommodate
their desires
I have no knowledge
of it taking place
in my office
or membrane
with enemies like that
who needs a family
or a memory or
the terms of our
agreement as defined
on page (iii)
allow me to reiterate
allow me
McDonald's
Oak Lane
Olive Garden
Middle School
Evergreen Terrace
Office
Light Rail
Gallows Road
Poem Beginning with My Beard
It hurts me more than it hurts you.
I feel it grow as the face shrinks.
I'm sorry, Mikhail Bakhtin,
this is not a novel way
to apologize for naming the cat
after you. She's sick too.
Our funks mix like some
industrial warning for housewives
everywhere. How bad is it
to think about Bhopal
while writing a poem?
What about Medvedev, Hermes,
and militant Jews?
Logic stalks. The falcon
can hear the falconer
and never fails to lock on.
How long do I have to wait
for the world to contaminate
its selfish thoughts
with my own? I want
to be relational so badly
it can't happen. I know that.
No more analysis needed
to loosen up the words
that never really . . .
Here city, city, city.
Come on, boy, don't be
afraid to coalesce into
an ethereal smear pocked
with monuments that burn
all night, crazier than thou.
Both of us just sit there,
waiting for the catastrophe
that matches our mise-en-scène:
dirty sun to smoky screen
filters a false logic caught
again, obsessively stable.
