Post-American Song

Originally posted 3/24/2012.

It’s of no larger importance how any one of us dies, including me —
the inevitability of the event is king
over the madness of the method  

Don’t care if it’s from gun or blade or germ
Don’t care but don’t want it to happen too soon
I know it will happen and I wish you could see it as I do

As wave of the star enveloping
As wave of the earth encompassing
As wave of the wind embracing

Then the next minute moment second instant
must be suddenly different — suddenly not this
All I want to know about that moment I cannot know

So I sit here speaking of death, fingers tapping, waiting
Oh the damn notion of all of us having to wait
You wait as you will but I will be calm and resigned to it

How we die is trivia though it does not feel so
Every death I’ve known has been in some way most trivial
Every individual an inconsequential body gone

(except — I admit — each was a wave
of earthquake within me that felt as large
as how I had loved them)

But I am the broken acolyte of continuance
Death and aging hollowed me out a long time ago
Now all  I yearn for is my choice of method

As wave of desire punctures my reluctance
In this country devoted to living forever
To never reading the sick bulletins of its unconscious satisfactions

I don’t care how any of us live, no
Live and let live is here practiced as apathy not compassion
Does it look the same when it’s not about love but instead about disinterest

I don’t care how anyone anywhere dies, no
Do you think that is awesome or troubling or false
Wave of suspicion engendering my breakdown

Come as you are, all of you
come incorrect
to the throne of mirrors

Look at AMERICA the hall of just in time history
AMERICA the holler the chorus the cadence
AMERICA the man in the trembling suit

Look at the gun in the hand of the —
what is it today anyway?
Who are the current heroes of our vigilante songs?

We don’t care how others die
as long as the lettuce
stays crisp

Method is ghost
is memory
is suggested mask for the inevitable

I am wearing the mask of a wave all-encompassing
I am wearing the mask of a wave of righteousness
I am wearing the mask askew from its moorings

I will take off this mask
and look at America
Wallflower with its back to the fourth wall

or is it behind me
watching the others
Is it in front of me on a player’s mark

I don’t care if it dies or how it dies
if it makes sense to the plot, no
I don’t see that death as being all that surprising

since I never believed
that the rockets and twilight should lead for certain
to dawn’s early light

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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