9
When I say white space, I mean it
self-consciously. Geometric
mise-en-scène and chess-like blocking.
The poem’s a desolate place to fill
with your fears and lexical curlicues.
Tbh it’s pretty pretentious
to Hitchcock us through monochromatic
purgatory as a mere palate-cleansing
exercise. Or regurgitate the Machine War
as a basic lesson in emptiness.
For when the hurly-burly’s done,
and we meet Morpheus upon the heath
and are feted with red pills and blue pills,
the oracle will say, we’re already dead.
10
The oracle will say, we’re already dead.
Fun fact! Now picture it read like
a Jenny Holzer ticker: RUNNING THINGS
WILL FUCK UP YOUR MENTAL HEALTH!
Most dictators suffer from a hill
to die on and their head on a spike.
Also: mortifying OCD,
narcissism, paranoia, schizophrenia,
antisocial sadistic tendencies,
dread of being cucked by his dearest chuck:
the Missus, a Machiavellian
hell-pixie, with her untold diagnoses.
This endlessly adaptable pair has
a relentless amount of baggage.
