From 'The liberties'
by Chris Pusateri
[ poetry - february 11 ]
2
Your
online catalog called 'spydus,'
could mean 'spider,'
might mean 'caught'
It's 2:30 already,
lightless sky of lunar blue,
'spydus,'
could mean lulled
by the antidote to life, lunged
into nighttime, my little ballerina, turn tail
musicbox, buggered
by schemes of the real shadow ministers
international fixer and paparazzo supreme
this is axed statute, made so by circumstance
and the pliant whims of the cameraman)
by royal command: let's press ahead,
give us confidence, extend us credit,
poets like to get their heads enjambed,
not even a citizen, eh?
nobody even knows
you're here, I'll bet
your last rationale
will be the ambulance siren that vanished
down the lane
stalked by the object of your research
you enter a single word and search
all day for it
a tiny you, passing through - field spectrum, flitting
amidst others passing - aperture
pictures in real-time, a narrative
calcifies,
forms accord it
you enter a word and search all day
watch those who would have you act
& observe: suspicion
according to
what
rules of evidence?
when lol is Latin for lookit,
fat lot of good it does
when you're stupider
than the tools you use
by a factor of ten.
dumb orifice: opening and closing:
daylight failings, sobbing squab
like speech, there is no way to retrieve
what's been given: there is only the recorder
who dictates in time.
58
You can tell a lot
about a village by
its prevalent forms of rebellion
funded
largely
by mother's labor
how like life
the many aspects of Plato's cave
are everywhere
apparent one is surprised to find there again
so fast, so little time,
where could truth lie but exactly where we're looking in
cuttings, edited footage the very leavings
