‘All of us are better when we’re loved.’
For reasons unexplained, every person in the world is born with a large gaping hole in the center of their chest…while not uncomfortable, it is widely considered unsightly, and pretty much everyone tries to fill it with something…some people fill it with religion, others just buy a bunch of stuff, and some even fill it with other folks…I left mine alone, though, because I found out if you run against the wind at just the right angle, it makes a whistling noise.
Like the Atman of the Vedas, like the Buddhist Mind, like Tao, the Great Spirit of the American Indian is everywhere and in all things, unchanging… It stirs me that this primordial intuition has been perpetuated by voice and act across countless horizons and for centuries on end… it is a profound consolation, perhaps the only one, to this haunted animal that wastes most of a long a ghostly life wandering the future and the past on its hind legs, looking for meanings, only to see in the eyes of others of its kind that it must die.
Heart flopping, I did my first poetry set
in New Orleans. It was delicious.
i wasn’t going to read, but then Ben was like,
"DO YOU WANNA READ?!?!?"
and I was like, “YUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS—-“
afterward, a girl approaches me
and we share a genuine human moment. Her dad is an artist
who, in 2013, made an instillation piece about Laika, the Russian
dog I wrote into my poem
and grad school isn’t scary, though i haven’t had
my journalism class yet, the one where the professor isn’t a professor
but a JOURNALIST IN RESIDENCE, which translates
i want my friends form PA to move to this
"Northern Most Caribbean Town" I want them
to be happy about sugar and getting up early
and jazz. Dropping subtle hits to Drew
every time I shop at the co-op or meet
someone with goats, though admit
this city is too Rum Diaries
for his current self, though he changes
AT LEAST as often as I do, and this
is what keeps it fresh and free
of that rotting deer smell