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..:: CONTENTS ::..
   Volume VII, Issue II

..:: POETRY ::..


..:: PROSE ::..
..:: OTHER ::..

..:: ETC ::..
   Contributor's Notes

..:: ARCHIVES ::..
   Volume I, Issue I
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   Volume II, Issue II
   Volume III, Issue I
   Volume III, Issue II
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   Volume IV, Issue II
   Volume V, Issue I
   Volume V, Issue II
   Volume VI, Issue I
   Volume VI, Issue II
   Volume VII, Issue I

 
Poetry


from Blank City
Jane Joritz-Nakagawa

*     *     *

 

it's about time.  spoiled citizens reject presidential attack ads in favor of terrorist fighting
money. the milky way is composed of profit margins. little motifs proliferate until we kill
them.  with what i ask.    what we were to the world.    so i tried hiding in the deficit
touching me inappropriately.  my arms race.  leaving my feet at the door. i kept staring at
embossed paper floating through the night tho i try to cease and desist. spring is more
absent than usual.  i look at the plate with my mouth closed.  invisible enemies in
imaginary wars keep me from going.  to work.   love became increasingly porous.   to
screw up politics

 

*     *     *

 

no time to learn what my mobile fone can do tho i sense its relative importance.  ask not
what your computer can do for you ask what you can do for your internet provider.  i'm not
sure if i retired or was fired.   losing the needle of the conversation &  suspecting i was a
spam filter in an earlier more lackluster life.  i would balance on a sheet of paper except my
lawyer advised against it. we will rename the campaign operation poophole.  the doctor's
scalpel is nice and points to future climate change denial

 

*     *     *

 

even tho i wear my surgical mask twenty four seven. suffused with the rhetoric.    a desire
to be in love without there being anyone to be in love with.  an online vigilante group
posing a national security risk may just be a hobby.  passive-aggressive disorder may stem
from a specific childhood stimulus in an environment where it was not safe to express
frustration or anger.  mutual respect between me and the government became increasingly
unlikely.   why god doesn't love you back

 

*     *     *

 

somewhere between centripetal and centrifugal. if you deliberately court madness you
could end up sane.   please close my eyes and rub my feet.  if i were dead i would still eat.
it's not my fault the directions were wrong.  in front of dancing stars.    reduce reuse recycle
runaway reject.  invisible radiation as much as superhumanly possible and according to an
unnamed source in the bull's eye the market slumped and alternative views became.   i'd
like to attend the electoral college.  there is more than one way to default. inflate your
currency for example

 

*     *     *

 

since it was the only thing that could console me. underwear shredded into a pitiful shape.
vessels of shame for the entire society.  thrown into a disillusioning world.  i hug the book.
i go away from the horrible city. blankness of a wall on which paintings are hung.  self
already disintegrating. vaporized for thought crimes.  ultimately god escapes during the
season finale.   fueled by paranoia and celebrity mysticism

 

*     *     *

 

wanting to purchase a secular democracy but forgetting to read the fine print and ending up
head of a tobacco company.  later buried at sea showered with old money.  in the shadow of
big banks.  busy lawyering up.   collective scams leveraged to the hilt hammer the poor.
fake profits put desperation in the air clouded by large bonuses.  we hoped for a religious
apocalypse not an economic one but secret millionaires brought restless leg syndrome to
the skies creating wage slaves and brand loyalty

 

*     *     *

 

afraid it would disorganize my brain.  played to the melody of tyranny.  probably just a
nervous system overreacting to mild stimuli.  events without resolution create a residue
which is difficult to remove.  chapter line and verse.  i don't walk around outside in my
bathrobe claiming to be sane or anything but.  often.  in the language of tomorrow the
chronically ill will never feel better soon or ever. in the extraordinary powers of attorneys.
please do me a favor

 

*     *     *

 

hoping to make a positive ID.  new austerity measures for sweat shops pose no immediate
threat to human health.  compulsive disorders may be a new form of bonded labor.  because
offshore bankers simulate the economy and humans are miswired at birth by a bitter god

 

*     *     *

 

repulsive silence in a replica scenario.  so i collapse on the pavement.  once i learn to isolate
myself and the linguistic isotope.  i may become extinct.  a continuing deferral of
consciousness from itself

 

*     *     *

 

to ensure my existence i refer to myself in the third person.  and hope it will extend the
limits of treatability.  while the rich avert their eyes.  to manage the unmanageable. in arid
dreams of toxicologists no crops grow.  an unsafe dose of language was released when i
accidentally damaged a safety valve.   i got a physical when i finished my tour.  evil twin
theory is a sucker punch

 

*     *     *

 

though i was in full compliance of federal law.  since all languages have unknown side
effects. doomed to fail the reality test again and again.  death by misadventure. given
random privately funded trials. pending further investigation.  the way the wor(l)d works

 

*     *     *

 

the unknown etiology. g minor is the saddest key. so i turned into a touch panel for all the
men in the office.  a flow of sentiments suddenly stopped.  i don't care what. critics say
eternity is not an option

 

*     *     *

 

the forest wasn't the only thing petrified. how you could mistake a forest for a field of
stones.  i wore the food chain round my neck.  i was very justified.  i remember the day my
head broke.  cold tho i was wrapped in a blanket of ignorance.  we invent limits every day.
to be swollen and disfigured. people cannot occupy the space of an other. at the bottom of a
deep gravity well on a gas-covered planet

 

*     *     *

 

this world with no one in it.  ambush a conspiracy theory to achieve a certain dissipation of
money even if too big to fail.  if i could hang it on a gallery wall somebody would pay a lot
of money for it.  i could always touch myself. words may be simple yet frighten me.  so i
mingled with houses. what happened to the once full world

 

*     *     *

 

as part of a silent minority which is actually dead. i wanted to analyze language not reality.
but in the court of opinion i become unresponsive. on whom we tested the vaccine.  which
medicines cannot cure. in revised versions of decolletage. at the cellular level.  as if the
names were proper. when the world becomes rational i'll stop writing about it. more or
less. toward overflowing cemeteries on the slippery slopes of justice. with their debt
downgraded. very ordinary prison sentences.  a reason for early riot intervention. and
heroin overdoses in rehab facilities

 

*     *     *

 

unsure if my house looked empty or full i asked passersby.  tho i know home is an
antiquated gesture.  thus i am always ready for combat.  can you endure borders without
paranoia. while spitting myself out trying to not explicitly privilege women in my research.
made into a mantra i chant whenever i am upside down. splitting myself in two enables me
to inhabit both halves of the universe.  tho i don't like either half. in places where i have no
business.  in which wor(l)d parasites frolic

 

*     *     *

 

to exhume the linguistic body. we wish for the poem's safe return.  into the arms of
goddesses. tho i suspect the trees are really stencils. lurking in my private eye. enemies
which can't be seen.  crowds aren't enough. words and the sky empty themselves. i could
have been a contender or a key witness. some things cannot be translated

 

 

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