rad poetry #5: for j.a. tyler

RAD POETRY THANKS J.A. TYLER (AND ALL THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN SPREADING THE WORD THESE LAST COUPLE DAYS) (EDITORIAL COMMENT: I FEEL LIKE FOR SOME REASON THIS VIDEO SEEMS ANGRY BUT MAYBE IT IS JUST TIRED OR THE POEM IS MAYBE VERY SAD, WHAT WITH ALL THAT ARK AND NONE OF US THERE: HAPPY EASTER!)




THE MISSIONARY POSITRON

for J.A. Tyler

is the name of a personal ark
christened by a lava lamp
and Calvinist by discretion,
which means empty. We all
drowned. Inside, there are ovens
full of cushions and lightbulbs
illustrated with Bible scenes.
Thousands of jackets but no
buttons. Instead of blinds,
power strips. Everything is dark,
except now and then a pink light
strobes the floor like a cockroach.
All the bedrooms smell like licorice.
The shower spits wriggles of paper,
each one offering a clever reason
for the last. Everyone you love is
represented by their thumbprints on
silverware, none of which is ever
washed but soaks eternally in buckets
hidden around like Easter eggs even the
parents forgot about. Open the fridge:
it's just frozen latkes arranged to spell
the time. Each room is through a room's
fireplace, so maybe it's a good thing
we're dead already, right? You're right:
sometimes I think of my brain as a
coked out deli manager, running around
with pumpernickel and ham in a juggle,
screaming BE MORE RADICAL! at the
sandwich artists. Life is a lot of
clarification and limited-time options,
which is why it's good to listen to
real people and turn everything they say
into a family of origami frogs and hide
under that person's bed, arranging frogs
forever and letting worry do its heavy thing,
like some kind of mega dumbfuck at the helm.