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Chimerica
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Hymn of the Hunter
I was born to the neon womb
Cocoon; the wound of civilization
I wasn’t there, but I heard about it
I was within and without
Wet; it must’ve rained
All is quiet in Pripyat
The trees will not rustle
But rust will form on factories
The merry-go-round goes round no more
A rough beast at rest; no longer slouching
The head, lines of bread
Mounted on our wall
Our will greater than wilderness
Vanities and vice
A modest price for our haul of trophies
(The closet at the end of the hall -
We don’t go in)
See my rifle
My star-spangled fang of justice
Now there’s just us
Who can tangle with Quatermain?
Our main sport - no quarter
For the ghost in the darkness
Mop up the blood before the next safari
Who are we?
God bless this mess
My own forms of carnage
Aged matchbox cars
Splashing puddles
Rebuttles for toys snatched
Later huddled against my mother
My knowledge of politics was potatoe
Built forts of sticks and leaves
Games of hide and seek
Crouched in a ditch, untwitching muscle, hoping
The trees will not rustle
The voices call and call
We stifle a snicker
“This isn’t fun. I’m going home.”
That’s where it’s safest
That’s where the base is
Safe and sound - baseless
II. The Next Building I Plan to Bomb
It was not yet beyond the pale
To make mirth at tragedy
Koresh, McVeigh, Heaven’s Gate
Insulated insolence; isolated incidents; ISIS isn’t in the mix
Distracted by scandals
Vandalized dress of the president’s mistress
Mistrust missed us
White horse on the highway
Onward to victory
Splintered by our pigment
Pigs put Rodney in a splint
The shadow of where the crooked tree will fall
The dark figures
Skating rival's annihilation
Of the patella
It all felt relevant
Cheap fodder to vent about
On this thing called the internet
Bombs in building basements
Gossiped about like the petty kisses
And cupid’s misses
At the middle school dance
It was cute; even our
Wars were adorable
No cost in Kosovo
Glamour conflict
A twenty year old blonde
On the arm
Of the wealthy white-haired giant
Get the sommelier
I’d like to sample the Somalia and Croatia
A taste to wet the beak
For the bleak blood that we lick each week
In the comfort of my home
I spoke to you can’t be sure
No thought of vetting
Each trip to the make believe room
Like getting in the white van
Of a taloned lech
Age? Sex? Location?
Then I’d go out and play
We stuffed matchbooks in our pockets
From the local gas station
And burned plastic bags by the brook
To watch them cook
And writhe and yield
A field of matchsticks
Crumpled pages of the skinful rag
Hidden in the folds of a fantasy mag
Tin cans pierced by BBs
Never whole again
“My garage is full of
Empty beer bottles we can shoot”
We stood on the October beach
The sand packed hard by fall
Fireworks carried inside a jacket
Launched a Roman Candle
Into blue daylight
(At night, it would’ve been too risky)
We were on vacation
We three played Playstation
Collided on the trampoline
Prank called, delighted, Dave’s crush
Thought it’d be funny to tie him down
To a lawn chair, blinded
Sock in his mouth
Ransom note playfully taped to his chest
Towels wrapped around our heads
We gave ourselves foreign names
And took pictures to send her as a joke
When my mother arrived, I told her
But she didn’t get it
Instead, she said
Two boys, just older than me
Had blasted holes through their peers
Like tin cans
Never whole again
Hauled guns down the hall
And laid waste to lunch
April is the cruellest month
III. Is There a Draft in Here?
A window pane rarely touched
Passed and passed through
Used
Contemplating the arc of the world
Accused it
Of being too dim
A dim view; how hard would I have to run
To go through it?
A window pane smudged
By sugary hands of a six year old
Visiting dad at work
A window pane smudged
By the thighs of an intern
Thrown against it by dad
Breathing on her neck
Contemplating the twilight city
Over her shoulder
Shudder to think
He said his meeting ran late
A window pane to lean bags against
To bump into with a chair
How dare
It get so much attention
At ten
It was to be cleaned
By a man whose job you wouldn’t want
Hovering over humanity
But before its cleansing
The pane was met
By the nose of a plane
And no matter how fast it flew
Or how brief the moment they kissed
An oddity
A coincidence
That it should go in here since
It could’ve touched any other glass
On any floor
Yes
Serendipitous
Almost
There, in the piteous
Space where people thought important things happened
But then
The moment passed
All those jilted windows
Obliterated at the same time
By the plane that passed through the window
Pain.
There is no wind in the park
All my dreams; they seemed
The carving of cake
With a blade of grass
Empty pursuit of an actress
Brass grasp of tenacity
This chapter lacked this
At times, I thought my entrails
Would unravel on the floor
Of the N Train before
The rabble, the poor
No flinching
The recession of human tides
Silent shell
A drop of sweat the tell
Master planning magnum opus
By the oldest camp counselor
Eyes tied blind, impotent
Portent of a life unimportant
No sign of strife worthy of pity
Just a filthless boy in the city
The leaf that floats and sways in the park
Settles into dirt and rots
Fertilizer from which brighter leaves may spark
IV. Chimerica
Against the capitol, a lion
Its roar shook the ground
It tumbled through fire
Rather than go ‘round
The dinosaurs who threw a parade
When the meteor came their way
Principles a dark charade
Fossilized in nostalgia
Then the goat who grazes
Benevolent, righteous, bold
Snout to black mirror
Shouting at the dark, at the cold
Catalytic cattle
Pet, pet, you must pet
Or its horns will shred the innards
Of every sinner with no regret
And the snake, poised scorpion tail
The serpentine Damoclean sword
As the parents bicker over names
The cannibal nurse in the maternity ward
What’s worst: I had no complaints
Do not dare appear ungrateful
Wife’s feet resting by the fire pit
The boys conspiring
To chase down the ice cream truck
Sure I was awake
Sure I heard the call
But my grass was green
Not seen: nightmares
Rubik’s cubes shoved in nightstand drawers
Until they poured
Onto the floor
And every step was the jagged corner
Of where more should’ve tread
When they came for me
I did not recognize them
They were my neighbors
V. Hymn for the Hunted
You have been left behind
You, who still believes the fight
Is before you
There is a voice whispering
You are right
You are the good guy
And someday you must prevail
There is no evidence to be seen
Only the dense evergreen
To the contrary
But you must stay true to the lie
And lie down to a drugged sleep
In the somber hereafter
You are not one of the few
What I know now would crush you
