Love Fish

If you follow the love fish
that means you already know
it cannot be caught.
If you follow the love fish
you are a poet,
whether you like it or not.
Before it leads you onwards,
it has to lead you back –
it teaches you history.
The only thing you need to know is that
there is no such thing as history
but in the meantime we discovered electricity.
Hey, Joan of Arc,
I want to be you,
but can we skip the pyre?
Of course not.
Goodbye then,
I’m not ready to burn.
I’ll always think of you, I guess.
I’ll always say your name
when I stand before a fork in the road.
Here is Patti Smith
shouting lies from Rimbaud
at a drunk crowd.
The vomit on the walls
smells like beer and semen.
Who says if you want to be a poet
you need to have an alcohol bloat?
When some bodies are poetry
and some bodies are swords.
(I’m tricking you
with a false contradiction –
poetry is supposed to be swords)
That’s why I sometimes come up with lines
in pigeon pose.
We don’t need eyes anymore –
we have screens.
Our banners read “see the inner beauty”
and so the symmetrical-faced ones
– unjustly dubbed fiends –
drill holes in their insides
and pour themselves out.
Is this what you wanted?
I have not much left of myself.
Open the page.
You have 2 new comments.
One says –
Wasted 5 minutes of my life on this bullshit
along with 99 cents
and I don’t know which
I’d rather have back.
The other one says –
This has to be the work of a genius
because I can’t understand one God-damned thing.

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