The remote isn't that big a deal
But I'm asking. Do you have the remote? It was right here
Are you sitting on it? Check
Look under the corpse. That's where it usually is
You just don't want to get up
I don't need to get up. I'd feel it
You are becoming a serious corpse potato
I'd feel it
I would love to see what else is on
It's under the corpse
Pathetic. We both want to see what else is on. This is terrible
But "terrible" doesn't automatically mean I'll want to see the thing you think is
Isn't that another reason for you to look?
It's another reason for you. In fact, why don't you look for no reason?
Just get up and change it then. Are you too paralyzed without the remote to get up
and do what the remote does?
No, the thing about things is that they remain things, if not always just the thing
But a person, perhaps playing with a thingee perhaps not it doesn't matter
even if one has a thing about certainty
and still can appreciate the mutability of the whole thing
It's a good thing and therefore
Going into Iraqi refugees was the last thing on most investors' minds
but suddenly that was where all the money had gone
First thing anybody knew the sun had really set this time, gone down for good
It has the unshakable presence of a bad dream
except you can feel pain
a monster telethon with no mute
Bad preaching and worse theology
a marriage everyone should have seen coming
with porn the only commodity still behaving itself
Somewhere in the extreme back yard
the fastest machines are rattling the cage of the enemy nation state du jour
even as our own is being rattled
There's a noble symmetry in human endeavor. Two hands, two eyes, desiring mouth
All that's desirable desiring
But this other thing is not viewable
secret fraternity torture with all details in denial
but apparently shot on site
That's the current poetics
You can't imitate it and it doesn't have a plot
The present is where they bury people and where people are born
--very young, as Zukofsky says and he would have known
dream narrative with the usual neocon displacements
how the head pronoun was forced
to gather shrieks of enemy combatants in a golden cup
Lord's willing only to obeyers
roped in a circle
parents watch for the scantest things
based on group gods
Heaven understands the catalogue of methods
Shock as burning good
with a hot Messenger
irons dripping acid the skin is where Its will alights
torture prayer of that private Iraq
And with the new
elected of course
cutting out tongues for personal rape strength
THREE COINS IN A FOUNTAIN
You may understand the meanings
but these words
are beyond anyone's control
The words are all good
it's the meanings
Troops part of holiday scene
as primal anxiety parts waves
paints them red
swimming into speech
with characteristic splashes
but leaving something to be desired
Please return to your sets
we are encountering
nation states rending flesh
A second trip
to the store and still
the bank is muddy
Placard scrawled with old headlines
hung around the neck
of the dying outsider
Reception's the only religious concept left
the terminator's face personal at last
corrections page 2 next day
It's easy to save things
on a computer
anywhere else is a problem
with our enraged siblings
we have lost the social portion of our meaning
Force at a distance
annihilating all that's known
to a Diebold vote in the Green Zone
Complacencies of the money shot
as she or he, whichever is wanted
robe loose, lazily rubs the poor box
while the decor stands as still as
the forest primevil in medium focus.
The viewer turns around in a controlled mental circle
like a dog getting ready to rest
but more advanced, thanks to evolution
and the intelligent design of the couch
the empty store
glimpses of bruised, twisted, torn out
Get organized or is just plain "is" the only verb allowed anymore?
If I "am"
then you "are"
Or we could compromise
We "might be"
"if all goes well"
I make my signature gesture of including you
by underlining my solitary position
here in the center. How are you
—not all of you—just you, there in the yellow?
What's your name Rosemary I mean your real name?
Water? Walter. I'm sorry.
Not that your name is Walter.
It's a perfectly good name. I
wouldn't say great. Walter
Cronkheit: now that's not bad.
News is literature that stays
news. Not bad. Applause.
Walter, you say you open books
to find out what's going on? Don't
we all. Now here's a question:
Is the world is natural?
Rosemary? Evangeline? I guess it's
going to be a long night. Whoever
you are you have no idea?
You're not either I bet.
Hand me a question will you, Ed?
And I know it's Ed.
Laughter. They're not laughing at you they're
laughing with you, Ed.
Okay, here's one. Why aren't there any women torturers?
Because there aren't any women.
Oh, there are now?
Who writes these anyway?
OK. OK. Why aren't there any men torturers?
I give up. Because there aren't any
men? Laughter. Sorry, Walter
I forgot about you.
There's really nothing on.
A conveyer belt with packages on it
This particular lunch is free
but you better watch everyone's mouth
The master serves a free lunch without sequence or consequence
all you can eat it's edible
there's ice water medics available
And after lunch there are a certain number of hospital beds
but there's nothing on
Instant replay's useless
Our master is an angry god
behind the face very angry
someone's done some very wrong things
Bodies given over to orgies of obedience
with gas in the tank always
And the entire region watches the operation before the Super Bowl
Republicans completely tender toward biology, patience to hear the details
the screw holding the bones together while the ligaments learn to knit
The operations out of Mosul are virtuoso
tedious avant-garde tasks that someone has to do
reconnecting senses reactions abilities to read gestures make decisions pull triggers
all shredded into fried rice
That's for the avant-garde medics to deal with
Let the experts publish their articles in their itty-bitty journals
Fried *rice*, just a metaphor a mashed up body
social ribbons of information as delicate as yours, tattered and ripping
He went "into this period"
"praying for strength to do the
Lord's will," praying that he be
"As good a messenger of His
will as possible," adding that
He prays also "for personal
strength," And not forgetting,
finally, to ask "for Forgiveness."
BEATING THE BUSHES
Evolution started in the 19th century
No real reason
And stopped in the 21st
No real reason
So now we have to go back
and defend the past
which has become such a dump
Grab your bananas, men,
Bang your chests
when you hear beats
he's playing good shepherd
on the pig farm again
Why do nameless trees
under the mindless sky
of the precognitive president
always have to take up the slack?
Of what? Why does now
have to be history's
nap time the ferocious sleepers saying anything
to keep hold of the monetary public which is everybody
so they can hunt in private
bombing the extras
smell of burning profit in a plastic fork
To the faces behind the screen
he makes the secret sign
to eat what's there as it disappears into some unseen account,
trading good views
for shows of force
by the eternal boredom
of the entertained, fleeing
the future, sulking in the reruns
And if you can identify with that
then you're already to Expert level
where your only nemesis
is random storage
and your modus operandi
is a news story
denied, a detail a day
weeks sucked down
minutes sorted by Up Yours
into episodes of Gotcha
as told to Fuck You
a presentation of You Already Swallowed
the cliff or on
live or tape
life delay or
missed the boat
or tossed on the high pitched seas of megalopolitan systematic chance
what's to lose
to leave its names outside?
This is when
the doors are open
Offer good today only
No loopholes, nothing
you wouldn't want
to be in the same room with
The chief forensic pathologist told me Jamadi was alive and well when he
walked in. The SEALs were accused of causing head injuries before he
arrived, but he had no significant head injuries-certainly no brain
injuries that would have caused death
He had injuries to his ribs. You don't die from broken ribs. But if he had
been hung up and had broken ribs, that's different
Asphyxia is what he died from-as in a crucifixion
The plastic bag could have impaired his breath, but he couldn't have died from that
If his hands were pulled up five feet-that's to his neck. That's pretty
tough. That would put a lot of tension on his rib muscles, which are needed
for breathing. It's not only painful-The muscles tire, the breathing
function is impaired, so there's less oxygen entering the bloodstream
The hood would likely have compounded the problem, because the
interrogators can't see his face if he's turning blue. We see a lot about a
patient's condition by looking at his face. By putting that goddam hood on,
they can't see if he's conscious. It also doesn't permit them to know when