decay of metal

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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna
sunsounds
catilinas

image

Vahni Capildeo, from Odyssey Response in Like a Tree, Walking

taqrir

[ID: a poem titled “VIII (eight). That’s epic” It reads:

There is a city beneath the city beneath the city
beneath the floodplain. Forget about it. A city
is at the back of the city at the back of the city.
Ignore it. Ignore the scripts in which mathematics
and astronomy were first written. Ignore the scripts
incised in rock, the scripts inscribed in landscape.
O Muse, make the poet move on. Memory is no good
to triumphant civilizations.
O Muse, your poet is blind, saying life has a sheen.
O Muse, your poet’s a hostage, saying land has a meaning.
Nobody likes a try-hard, a lacemaker working
with a vascular surgeon to join delicate gaps.
Put memory in the service of intention
to keep the story shining, like tears shed over onionskin,
or the cheering faces of the well-fed family watching
screensful of migrants plummeting or washed up
at a border, from a wall. The camera admires
guards, themselves descended from migrants.
The shining colours of weaponry,
made manifest by taxes, drops death
on more children shining and their many lovely languages
as if they were done for from the get-go, like paper brochures
in a digital age. Forget about it.
Keep going. A story has the tricks of appetite.

End ID.]

poetry mhm mhyeah