Curriculum Vitae
I’ll keep the ululating
to a minimum
and wear the warpaint
outside the stadium.
I’ll clutch a Kalashnikov
loaded with cardamom,
and speak in tongues
I can sell as native.
Display my bones
in the natural museum—
I’ll ask you to gas me,
pretend to be plaintive.
Pimp my pride. I promise
I’m noninvasive.
In the middle of light,
I look on the night side.
Ask me what I do,
I’ll say: unoccupied.
I’ll set my nation’s
whole body on fire,
simplify the fractions
of political rhyme.
I’ll skein this skin
to the highest of high wires,
refuse to become
a man of my time.
I’ll lift the veil
off this crowded lift
in which we are silent—
as if guilty in our climb—
and offer this tongue,
this ripped-off gift.
Ode to Silo City
O grain grown
gone as rain
O tract of weed
& crack concrete
silos your eyes
climb & widen
our ears & rove
inchoate echo
quieter the voice
easier to hear
you opposite
of paper press
onto the oppo
site of ink
rise from the rude
& brutalist rust
into the gentle
ghost-grain future
into this rusted
wind-ached throat
open to open
these loud clouds
