this that

you speak of rats.

geese.  a world of peace

you stumble stammer

CLENCHRAISE

pound your fist

and i tell you there are no politics

you swear tell me how

much you care

you cheat the WALMART man

out of groceries and i tell you

there are no politics like

no pay

checks

you tell me of graverobbers and goofs

and of what you’ve read & PROUDHON

an’ how things should be

and I TELL YOU proudhon is working down in aisle 2

and there are no politics

and you gyrate, castrate, styrofoam yourself

to the tone of principles

your arm is (once again) raised

and I tell you there are no politics

By nightfall you’re on to your appointments

& your lover

& rings and flings & things

and you see Augustine on the way home

and he says “let’s go get drunk

                    light a cigarette and throw up on the world”

you get back home to your laptop

mumblin’ on about the phoniness of

right-wing Evangelical churches

and Augustine breaks in and says

groovy but also holy hollowness too

yes hollow holiness

and that some of Thomas Aquinas’ best friends

know people that go to right-wing-Evangelical-Church

you blow up, slam doors

say “can’t no one say anything to you”

and Augustine says, “What do you think, Matt?”

Your hallway stinks as we walk through it

your stairs tilt drastically

your railing’s rotted and there’s blood at the

bottom of your steps, you say to meet

bricks with bricks

I SAY to meet bricks with chalk and private property

you go on and on and on about monster floor plans

and the poor

and i tell you I don’t do metaphysics and that

there are no politics

And “O, young learner, ” you tell me.  “Metaphysics are not necessary.”  And Elizabeth stoker walks in from the street and says “Yes they are.”

and i tell you there are no politics.