Robin Wyatt Dunn lives in a state of desperation engineered by late capitalism, within which his mind is a mere subset of a much larger hallucination wherein men are machines, machines are men, and the world and everything in it are mere dreams whose eddies and currents poets can channel briefly but cannot control. Perhaps it goes without saying that he lives in Los Angeles. The news Can you believe the size of that man's ears? Look at how the light shines on the asphalt. Wouldn't you like to have an automobile like that? Look at the man with the baseball bat He is strong He is handsome He's just like you But more muscular And standing inside a huge bright green field With cheering fans arrayed around In a rough circle Waving their arms like at a parade Look at the beautiful woman She is so beautiful Delicate And full featured Sensuous. Here in paradise we have arrayed experience As in an intricate geometric pattern Black and ochre Yellow and white Spread over the veranda Come sit down and try this beer The beer is good Like the beautiful woman is good Something out of Sumer or god something that might remind you of something something ineffable something you will never be able to find The man has a gun Dear god Dearest god Let us worship together The man with the gun the cheerleader sublimated out of time itself the cheerleader ordains the fallow year and the heartbreaking century wrought into a bundle of earth and stone. she levitates inside of the miasma of american experience condemning all poverty as derision and beckoning the rift over the rough edges of space to close in on her and ours *** This is a safe space Where we should not speak We're not allowed to talk about Jews or Gentiles here We're not allowed to talk about white people or black people here Brown people or yellow people or red people. Let there be silence here Where we are safe With our mouths tightly bound with rope You are safe with me I know everything you're never going to say *** no one shall redeem you we have weathered and reasoned with your curls mopped your starbursts murdered your borders. this body exacts penalties and earns rewards there's no going back *** each lie brings evidence against itself inside the hernia a poem inside the poem, the truth. when I built Jerusalem I used many stones from many burial grounds many ovens for many loaves each child is sacred each child is dead. each lie brings evidence in court over the bodies some of them living some dead each one speaks louder over my earphones each one insists that it is eternal and blameless each one is screaming now me now now now I hold them over my shoulder on the long trip out past Mississippi past Uranus
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