Pattern Analysis

By | 1 December 2022

At the hinge
of before and after,
the boycott expands:
me from ordinary life,
ordinary life from me.

Nostalgia summons
the once finely calibrated
habitus of advertising:
the very mint cashmere shawl indie
film festival new vegan restaurant
I didn’t know I did but wanted.

Not so much real intimacy,
just capitalism’s deep, surveillant interest
in my anxious homo economicus
(being looked at lovingly sometimes being close
enough to being loved).

Now all seems random:
news reel, conversation, meeting
invitation — hasty incisions, knife slipping
over thumb and no dark metaphor for
salvage. I do not really yearn for the best
ten exercises to lose my stubborn belly or
how to lean in as a remote-working feminist;
all of my passwords feel compromised,
no simple hack gets them sleeping like babies.

The expensive calm of now,
pruning things I know how to do
and people I know how to talk to,
leaves light shining down, me squinting at
questions — how to name a child so they know
they belong, how to name the body
so it doesn’t fail you, how to taste the sticky
corner of your mouth, how to fast forward
through all this, the very best day of life.

This entry was posted in 107: LIMINAL and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.