after allen ginsberg

By -

this seemed like the right place for it.



HIDE YOUR LIGHT UNDER A BUSHEL

Who represents my body in the Pentagon?

Who represents my body, site-of-conflict and all? Who stands before the junta in my body poncho, gut trembling, gender flitting on and off like LEDs ground under-kid-foot? My body is not a thing to be unconditional about.

Who represents my body in American Apparel? Who is my everlasting light? Who will save my body in the pool-side reckoning? Who will save the squeezed, gold-bodystocking’d me from over-exposure? When this shit grinds to a halt, who will be my body’s advocate? When my gender dissolves into panic and chaos, who will write my emergency legislation? Who will stand over my maleness as it drips apart, limestone floater in a champagne flute of saline? Who will stop my body from begging the paycheck, one white buttock at a time?

When will our salvation come? What thick-thighed angels sputter forth from the celestial meatus for us? When will my body be represented in the angelic choir? Allen! I hear you whispering from my clavicles but a devil has my love pumps in his fondue forks and I’ve to steal back to the site of my sundering.

Who masturbates to my body? Who rasturbates my body, making me maroon particles ovular against the wall, changing my body irrevocably? Who will use my body until this consuming whiteness subsides? I may be white and male, but my body is like fucking nothing you know. Will you engage the distance between my image and your fingers?

Who will bit.torrent my body? Who will stay up until 4AM seeding my varicose veins? Who will encode my nipples, who will .rar my ass dimples? Who VBRs my pubic hair, facebook thumbs exploding like sparks from my digital skin? Who will pm me to become my body’s forum moderator? Who backs up my bald spot in the cloud?

Who represents our bodies in the United Nations? Who translates our body-talk? Who will weaponize our bodies and dump us in a spiderhole? Allen! I hate my body and my body hates me, but at least we have each other!

Who will fetishize me? Who beats my eardrum until it hangs weakly decadent over my hearing bones? Who will wrap themselves in me like a corset? Who will make a lamp of my feet, who will make their kids take off their shoes before they walk on rug-me? Who can help my body achieve maximum market saturation? Who will network with my body?

Who represents my body, locked in endless redacted surgery? Which one of you will hide my body and make it precious? Who?

Comments

  1. B. BarrettJune 7, 2011 at 4:36 PM

    Chunks of this are really, really gross. But overall, it's fucking...different.

    I'd like to know more about the genesis of this piece. It seems like a left-fielder, which is good.

    I don't like the line: "but my body is like fucking nothing you know." It's doing too much telling.

    Overall though I think it's different, vulnerable, and a bit ridiculous and demented (in a productive way).

    It makes me uncomfortable which is some of the highest praise I can give when it comes to poetry.

    ReplyDelete
  2. B. BarrettJune 7, 2011 at 4:41 PM

    In case it's still unclear, I like it.

    ReplyDelete
  3. bigscarygiraffeJune 9, 2011 at 7:56 AM

    Okay so remember all that stuff I was saying about Bendi and sparseness? Yeah, tots works for this too. This is a somewhat anti-sparse poem. It's dense, thick-- an onslaught of delicious. Some lines are working for you better than others. I think every bite (byte), especially in a litany, has to pack a similar brand of energy to the one before it. There are some lines that are a little over-edited, or under-edited (i.e.--"Who will make a lamp of my feet, who will make their kids take off their shoes before they walk on rug-me?") I think the shoes idea is great, but is awkwardly executed. I'm mostly talking about "rug-me" there.

    That said, this poem is mad awkward. It forces you in and out of so many boxes you're left without feet by the end of it (or even an idea of what feet are). Well done sir. Well done. Allen would be proud.

    Also,

    "Allen! I hear you whispering from my clavicles but a devil has my love pumps in his fondue forks and I’ve to steal back to the site of my sundering."

    Spot on rhythm jive, man oh man.

    ReplyDelete

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