I Suggest Fusion.

I am so melo’t’nin today, sleepy like I have brain cancer
and, don’t laugh, the curse of the winter semester
is its unrelenting parade of ‘tarded assignment
after mini-paper after poetry/pruning seminar
after Inca masonry exhibit after stack
after stack after stack of Marxist
anthropology essays and
lingual apparatus
quizzes and
I am
rotten I know
but I’d rather be at
a shit job right now all
giddy on the rope and clock
watching and okay you can laugh
I mean what else can you? I feel as though
a $60,000 joke has been played in my honour and
I don’t get it will I ever get it or a job or even a weekend at
ward? I just
hope for spring
but remember when
we were in the shit and we
couldn’t wait to get out? It’s all
hell, Sherman said that, all hell is war
and, in our case, cheap labour like coffee
picking or rubber plantationing or slave trade
I should
have gotten
into slaves when
I had the chance now
I’m in graduate school
I’m the slave
slave to the pen
the laptop the mini
recorder the lecture the
seminar the essay the the the
I think I’m’a
take my student
loan next September
and spend THE WHOLE
THING on a motor home a real
nice class “A” and really start living
and just because I don’t know what really
living looks like it won’t stop me
I’ll drive somewhere and from
there somewhere else and
I’ll have a woodstove put
in so I can tough it
out over winter
up in the
a lake my god
cross-country skiing
every day and eating re-
frieds just to stay alive and
maybe I’ll write something signif-
icant but I’m not gonna put any press-
ure on myself that’s my fail-safe is not put-
ting pressure ’cause we’re not bloody wounds
you don’t HAVE TO APPLY PRESSURE to life now
do you? even if it all seems like the pipe dream
wrought from the soul-gut of an aging
hipster who is likely never to
leave Kelowna again
or even escape the awful
dread corporate nightmare life
I see men my age they scare me but
not the way you might think they are
dead inside except for a really small part that
moves their mouths their hands and the smaller
part that sees money and I wonder what they do at
night but really I know already they watch TV TV TV TV
a machine that builds machines in their heads so
they go to bed with the machine dream in
their heads and I’m likely already one of
these low-voltage monsters
already terminal
with some
and my dream
of a class “A” is proof it reeks
of comfort it stinks of middle class
senility like your dad wearing “sensible” shoes
there’s a bit of death in “sensible”
of course
all this time I was
being vigilant for sudden
and unremitting death DEATH
but in fact it is gradual comes with
the collapse of WONDER the fugue of
sugar the forgetfulness of mid-life when you
forget the once-was electric joy in your bones and
blood and you stagger into a New Balance outlet and
lay your money down on a new pair of “sensible”
but I promise my class “A” will be something
insensible incomprehensible a film
studio a gallery of taxidermied
cats a rolling cafe unlicenced
but no matter WE GIVE IT
AWAY maybe a
summer ranch
in the informal logic
of Ponderosa pines
maybe the biggest coffin
in the history of the McCann Klan
maybe penicillin for the dread that daily
washes through my transom window
oh god this poem
has lost its brakes
did I mention this is all procrastination because
to write a GTA application
twenty minutes ago but I am
completely uninterested and but so that
doesn’t take away from my vision splendid
far from it these moments of acute stress make the
visions all the more lovely all the more real all
the more apotheotic so’s the sub-alpine lake
so’s the refried beans so’s the class
“A” I think I wanna be buried inna
class “A” the HUGE driver area
that SHAMES a Hummer
the full bath
the master bedroom
the chance for life
people laugh just shake their heads
but I will be
taken seriously
(probably not)
I mean a class “A”
coming down your driveway
with me and a whole bunch of
novel relics or stories or
corn liquor
is something
you would
by necessity
have to take


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