The Do-Over. Kathleen Ossip
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never want to forget how this feels I will of course forget
//
Dear values absurd chaotic and tight,
Appraisal makes me nervous aggression makes me mad is true
The reality effect is true
Her body one long tube with an overgrowth in the middle is true
I can stare and stare and still not see it (truth) is true
My life is true my death is true the ravine is true
//
I wouldn’t pay slave wages I wouldn’t sit down and have lunch with
THEWOMANWHOCLEANS“MY”HOUSE
without checking my texts
Modesty kindness humility acceptance these too are genius
the kinds we need now
CALM DOWN YOU’RE NOT AS SMART AS YOU THINK YOU ARE
//
This one has no soul and that one has no soul Death is OK for some
In the summer of economic collapse in the summer of widespread famine
(can’t bear to look back have done that in last book)
I execute I exfoliate I Gothicize
//
What caused the economic collapse me so feckless and dreamy
I’ve been irresponsible I have no pension I will die in poverty
I’m a poetess I’ll be killed and eaten I have no money
I make a beeline for the essential I think I’m so great
(Ultimate putdown of my childhood “She thinks she’s so great.”)
I ride a zipline over the ravine it’s great
//
Dear values absurd chaotic and tight,
I think I’m so great to avoid losing light
I sit on the banks of the river the bodies of my enemies float by
(Death is OK for some)
salmon Weckquaesgeeks children I’m oblivious of
//
I don’t want much I want at my best to be most loved
At my most ambitious to be most coddled
I want to be oblivious and kind
I want to be rich and humble
I want to believe in reincarnation an eternity of do-overs
and because I want to
I find the hidden sun:
There’s a crazy bright object stapled to the Western sky
There’s a crown of fire bragging in the Western sky
I’ll brag right along with it I am never gonna die
2
Ghost Moon
This is the light of the culture: gold and misleading.
The moon of the culture is full; its light is thick.
The moon is famous, I’ve read it smells like gunpowder.
The moon binds the town in ivory plastic wrap.
The streetlight does not even bother to shine tonight.
Only once a month is the moon so bright, so bright!
I absorb its rays, I’m sure they do my skin good.
The moon is no drug. It is a voyeur
Clicking the same porn links over and over.
Or—no, wait, that’s me. The moon
Is that white disk up there, most definitely.
Most definitely it is poached or steamed
in a black broth of quietness. I eat here.
I make beds here. Here I stare at screens.
The moon is manic, it has a coin-like shape.
My eyes spiral with inattention.
The Lord God Yehovah is as vengeful as the moon,
The Goddess Devi is as nurturing.
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