when phoenix flooded
Playlist by wren cuidadx romero-gilhoolyThe transcendent anti-capitalist realist poems of when phoenix flooded range widely, both in subject and in form, driven by a fluid process of fragmentation and trasnformation through which they sprawl across the page, like the urban landscape where they’re set, and break apart before reforming with a new unity in a sonnet, an ode, a burning haibun. But even here, near the imperial border, as the world ends and St. Longinus walks into 7-11 with “blue tape around his bicep from giving blood” and a question for you, there’s light and joy, and there’s just enough time to joke about dancing on Joe Arpaio’s grave, may the day come soon. -Jamie Berrout
The Cold/ / any, any thing
I.The Cold will make you do any thing,
any, any thing to feel just a little warm.
The Cold has carried me to the bed of more than one stranger,
The Cold has raised my mother’s hand to throw at me a knife,
& it was The Cold which told prometheus to defy god and steal fire.
Sometimes I wonder: is there anything that we need in being cold?
II.
When cold,
we will beg, borrow or burn any thing.
Wood, chairs, bones- if freezing, what wouldn’t you feed to fire?
Would it be so bad to only ever be warm?
Who here has frost not confronted with its lonely, lonely knife?
Would it be that bad, really that bad, if winter were a stranger?
III.
The Stranger
was cold.
Her knife
cut any thing
to warm
Her fire.
IV.
In the bright light of our burgled fire,
The Stranger
said to us: The Warm
will some day kill The Cold.
We did not believe any thing,
and took her knife.
V.
Can the future be seen in a knife?
In a fire?
Is there any thing
stranger
than eulogizing cold
while some still cannot become warm?
VI.
like a warm
knife
through cold
butter, we come, again, to the house of fire,
this time stranger,
& ready to do any, any thing.
/ /
Some day, our great grandchildren will meet us in the shadow of the fire,
and we will say, as if to a stranger:
cold will make you do any, any thing.
Nostalgia is the most insidious and american complex.
Nostalgia says: go back.
Wasn’t it nice?
Back then?
Weren’t there
Flowers? Growing wild?
At the edge of our pen?
A working theory of history based on what I learned in the back of my friend’s box chevy on our way to practice in a barren field on irrigation day.
THE COLONIZER STRETCHES OUT BENEATH US
BASKING IN THE LIGHT.
THE COLONIZER WHISPERS SWEET NOTHINGS,
ASKS US TO SAY OUR NAMES.
ASKS US TO SAY OUR NAMES.
the colonizer tenses. eyes become tight as a needle. you pass thru like a rich man into heaven.
U ARE WITHIN THE NEW WOMB;
THE MIND OF THE GREAT CAT,
THE GREED DEMON
IN ITS NINTH LIFE,
SLAIN EIGHT THOUSAND
TIMES &
PURRING
TOWARDS THE VOID.
U ARE WITHIN THE NEW WOMB.
THE FOUNDRY OF THE FUTURE.
THE ASSEMBLY LINE OF TIME.
TOMORROW WILL BE A REPLICA
OF YESTERDAY. TODAY WILL BE
A REPLICA OF TOMORROW,
YESTERDAY WILL BE THE CROSS
WE BURN OURSELVES ON.
THE COLONIZER BLINKS.
SPITS U OUT. THE WORLD REPLICATES ITSELF AROUND YOU.
EXACTLY HOW YOU
REMEMBER IT.
THE COLONIZER STRETCHES OUT BENEATH
OUR LIGHT,
BASKING LIKE A
GREAT CAT IN ITS
NINTH LIFE,
LAPPING UP
OUR SWEAT.
THE COLONIZER LOOKS UP AT US.
ASKS US TO SAY OUR NAMES.
What’s wrong?
a cat’s got our mother’s tongue.
a light
a light a burning haibun
a burning Haibun is a poetic form invented by Torrin L. Greathouse. In a burning haibun, the poet writes a prose poem, that erases into a poem, that erases into a haiku.
when i met god i lied and kept going. when i met god i gave her five dollars. i said sorry that’s all i got,n kept going. when god asked for my name i could barely hear myself. when god left i finished my churro and my pizza and lit my last spliff. when god waved goodbye to me, i smiled back at her and adjusted the box of stolen panties in my bag. when god watched me go, i had numbers on my mind. this number for that day and that number for this day and that day for these numbers and these numbers for those days and those days for some number. i don’t know enough to care. god laughed and grabbed her lovers ass while i rushed off. god will i be rich? and god, if i am rich, will i be gracious enough to not lie when you ask for a dollar? how many dollars will you ask for before i lie? how many dollars will you ask for before i ask you for a dollar? how many dollars will i ask for before you lie? god? god you’re not listening, are you? god, are you in love? god? god will the earth flood again? god? god will babylon fall? god where will we go when the tower wrecks on shoreless seas? god? god? god?do i have to choose, god, between love and a dollar? that is the only choice, isn’t it? to love a day. oh god. to love a day enough to not ask for another. oh god. the sun, god, the sun keeps rising. god, i promised my mother’s dog i would introduce her to another dawn. you understand, don’t you? why did i lie? god what am i supposed to do? give every dollar to every voice that asks? god knows my pocket would be lighter. god, have i known suffering? god, this that i have known- is it suffering? god? god could you show me something? we’ll make a trade. i’ll show you every use for a dollar and you’ll show me every use for a lighter.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
when i met god i lied i gave her five dollars said sorry
and kept going.
my last spliff waved goodbye to
numbers.
these numbers don’t care enough to lie.
how many dollars will you ask for
before
the flood(?)
when the tower wrecks choose
between love and a dollar love a day
ask for another.
I promised my mother dawn
would be lighter. god?
could you trade me for a lighter?
god lied said sorry
kept my spliff for the flood
and promised a lightwhen phoenix flooded
children, younger than fear
and not older than the millennium,
dove into the parks
and swam.