Academic journal article Chicago Review

Sung to Sleep

Academic journal article Chicago Review

Sung to Sleep

Article excerpt

Our country's enemies snore in the safety catch,

dream about owning everything, like achenes

in the neighborhood which is just their accessory

they take to the air to advertise their species.

What viewer could believe them

that a locum spirit floats life through it,

connecting all in death and harmony,

that there is a god for forces: in spring

he's allergic to their fuzzy fertility, a diverse country

blots moving randomly in vacuums

which are actually everywhere full of water, and so full of life.

In a second they will open their anthers

and leave the carcass of their companies in process yellow

up to insurgent stalk. In each punch

bowl of vegetal fibre, sunk nearly to dripping

over the edge of its singularity,

the Une,

what have we come to expect a little fruit

for ornament: cool, paralyzed, crispy,

waste of cells going crazy on the tongue.

If anything happiness is

our common predicament, not

knowing how to live in the bulge where our lives

bottom out, unelected popular incumbents, build capacity

to make good choices from

a given list.

What gives to the raider, and to the day

blistering with tropical smells and agitations

against the double glaze to get inside a cool study,

to the patron or the slumming trader, means

tested but no uncertain exchange: as the cycle

trips back along the path strewn with interest

no small wonder,

who will deny her

that happiness laces together all the emulsions

on the cover she can't shed, sticks her

together; that it is most like damson

liquor in the morning, runs

in trunks throughout the videophoned day

and hardens as it cools for supper. …

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