ludicrous, the bad sign

is it ludicrous the extent
to which I feel detached from
what passes for american
culture is it just normal
now to pass over what passes
for news on the cables listening
only for those words that
inhabit one what does make
it interesting? there was a
time when it might be sexual
the news itself had that
quality of an electrical
charge happening but that
isn't here there's too many
names of people that mean
essentially nothing to one's
life they've no actual worth
just the act of being someone
spoken about thus influencing
who? the young and stupid I
think they think that, the
thinkers that contrive to
witness the culture so what
if they are wrong they
make the record they have
their way with the music
and the average person
I knew it happened in the arts
yet I thought that jeopardy
was where the common culture
leached into actuality
could this be true, not truly
ruling, ruling this, could
this be you and now and now
the panoply is multi-guessed
by ruling classes exposed as ever
to ego's needs and ludicrous
is a black man who makes
blank statements in a rythmic
fashion and spells his name
wrong so it sticks out more like
the mother of eight poor babies like
the senator from nevada like
the daughter of the ex-governor
and her ex-boyfriend all these
once upon a timers still
occupying the newsprint the
airwaves the memories however
flawed of millions of weepy
souls post oprah reality and
who am I to question this
journey this oblique track
into today's mirror? yes the
power is back on charlemagne
yes the river flows right down
the valley someone guesses
about me but they are wrong
as they can be, wrong again,
and wrong in trellised gardened
sensibility—the victorian the
lace and the leather bustier
to these ends march the family's
cast off sins and each member's
memory of their own guilt what
do you think of that sister
diane do you think that's fair
and brother david you are on
the other side of why you
might be there not talking
to each other but just to me
and those lost other souls
the ones with the lucre sitting
in their webs in the passing hours
out in california they bear no
responsibility and have
nothing to do with what was
or could've been I never have
to talk to you again, kathy
and you gregory you're lost
in those decks of cards we
shuffled through over many
a long year so what is left
for me to mark? to call the
angry sadness when remembering
this year? the chances of
return diminish with your every
breath my loving family your
existence is truth disrupted

ii.
and then another day rolls
into sight the snow falling
in the distance beautiful
disturbing the rings clashing
the noises of suburban fear
diametrically arranged from
one sleek highway to the next
and Illinois announces our
spring disruption the note
is shared but not among the
rest of the the people of
this state no they vote the
vote they are told to vote
the primary looms now our
ex-governor the one not yet
in jail lands another tv gig
reality show the blatant
smack in all our faces this
guy ripped me off yesterday
yet the rich man with the
bad hair rewards him with
some air time

today poetry sent back my
submission
I wrote an essay on my early
childhood
there were no emails from my
friends
the fear sat in my belly
ready
to erupt
the falling
dollars are leaves
in the autumn of
this life
today I sent poetry another
submission
I read through my essay on
childhood
I hoped for an email from my
friend
I raked up what leaves
there were into a pile
ready for the final leap

iii.
transitive in the nighttime
the odors in the sequined air
charmed pop music its quest
for sex or memory still absent
in the light of three a.m.
were you there for me?
were you sleeping by me?
was I stroking my guardian
tragic in my memory those
thousands of comes on the
basement stairs at scarritt
can you understand the bright
dream she was you are they were
flesh and perfume the fluids
of the selves neither meat
nor drink the oil coating
the dreams he chances for
his wandering heart he
blames his mother's past
the funeral grace his old
girlfriend now thick with
children and a bad marriage
he held her hand in passing
that day her mother tried
to hook him up she's dead now
and I think of that young girl
on the ferris wheel at joyland
my hand on her bare leg
wondering how far up her
skirt it might go is she
still married to the mad man
as the days begin to wind down
where is the memory
where can we tell ourselves
a story without a tragic
ending is there anywhere in
this current dispensation this
land between histories
do you see what is contained
in this code this mathematics
of heart and come this ghost
of repitition where is her
heart now today this moment
this time he thinks he knows
where he is but that isn't
ever really true the child
has a better idea than he does
the days grasp edges
the nights recall
desire the bonesong is rung
to a brief file on youtube
adieux young friend
shall we go to the Lady's heart
all too soon too soon