O Mississippi,
urethra of the American beast
I
remember your low-lying turbid simplicity
like
the moments before and after
car
accidents that could have been avoided.
There
are things we know
that
we do not know. For real.
Everything is recorded nothing is found.
Words are spoken silence is heard.
Money is gathered money taken.
Arrests are committed. Death is awarded.
Numbers are given. Questions are
questioned.
Silence is heard. Predictions are made.
Nothing has changed.
Dead
dogs drift to their masters
dissolving
in bayou/industrial/bathwater/chyme
as
the sea eclipses the sun
and
the night skies throb
of
helicopter landing lights
endless
useless
endless
useless.
Wake
up again.
What
a life on the balcony—
gothic
trees uprooted in blue light and contraflow.
Not
my tragedy but, in the midst of it
no
camera, no healer
East
Coast guy scared by the pool
I
saw the momentum of misery
and
turned away stray Christians
who’d
wander in to pray
the
monster moves on
to
people praying
the
monster moves on
like
women and their cancers
pray
together
with
southwestern stares
through
black steel bridges
on
the Argosy riverboat
wondering
Who do I know
in
Houston
Topeka
Chicago
and
all anyone can do is pray
for
masses moving through the complex
like
a giant human hand
shouting
Fuck the Quarter!
I don’t know what I’m gonna do
but I’ve gotta get some ice!
My family has drowned.
The
mayor says Sewage Snakes Sharks
Sharks with Guns Rape in the Streets
40,000 Deadbodies, Dead Dogs, and the
Darkness
We’re All Fucked Thank God for the Army
for
the helicopters over
Baton
Rouge tonight
Baton
Rouge tonight
Baton
Rouge tonight
pulsing
wound on fire with emergency
arming
itself at the WalMart
closing
down its windows
opening
its doors
aiming
at the road.
Don’t panic—dogs everywhere—
the
sky chrome as the holding tanks
next
to the cosmar facility, feral dogs
spilling
fu manchus of drool
over
intersections of concrete and dead grass.
The
president has spoken. He may even help.
A
billboard still stands: You Need A
Reason to Smile. Louisiana.
The
Lottery.
The
numbers/of millions
are
spoken since I came.
Where am I? Why am I
behaving badly?
Shall I not
speak my own language?
have my own holidays
and isn’t that why
I came here to start?
Was I not a stray Christian
once wandering?
Am I not here in search of glory
and hurt enough to show it?
Man I’m really freaking out today.
And there’s no way to stop one’s train.
Goddamn this gumbo is almost good enough
to stay.
I need a reason to smile
beyond biscuits and gravy
ever since I realized
America
is a miscommunication
and the result
is a crying shame
I cannot fix without leaving
the wreckage and illusions
I am lucky enough to call
someone else’s piece
here at the end of the Mississippi—
please don’t think I didn’t love you.
But Jesus Christ come on.
