For Hagan

November 17, 2010 § Leave a comment

I speed up the pitch and discover that everything
EVERYTHING
sounds better
when it’s unclear, or when it’s moving to fast for you
to hear the praise between the lines
or lack thereof
for nothing is this easy anymore
not even locking the door, or remembering to lock it thrice because
because
because
you don’t live here anymore
perhaps you never have (were you frozen, were you)
dead to the world above the boards you batter into place BANGA BANGA
your existence is a noise
they close ranks, and ears, eyes even
and you are not here, nor there, nor anywhere
you exist only in your own understanding
your own tip-toeing idea of your
‘self’
that Ghose suggests is bourgeois- too safe to stick (well, she would)
and there is nothing beyond the bracken-yellow notion
of a man
climbing
onto the forty-three
and a half
point nine
-ty nine
there is nothing beyond no one no owning
nothing
and there endeth this
suspicion.

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