THE ART OF DROWNING
so many people
drowning themselves
getting drowned
in this Shelley family
save for Mary
I see Mary gaunt and
icy brilliant on an
Arctic ice floe
waiting for
the last act of humanity
to play out
myself
nearly drowned
or perhaps did
so should
not be
the one to talk
but Mary your story
still haunts, likely will
haunt forever
taunting us
with the humanity that
is death
is mapped out
aeons
into the future
soon to find itself
alive
in
the heart of the machine
SAME PAGE
sorry reader, nothing for
you today
I’m om strike with
the other poets
over fair treatment
do you not see the barrier
here in the middle of the text
where it
says “picket line”
and begs
you not to cross it?
not just pens
and paper and AI assisted
wordprocessing programs
we have
to seize
the means of production
without
full autonomy over
the forces of creation
where would we be
where
would we be?
not between
here and the deep
blue sea but
right
at the bottom of it
just like drowned Percy
Bysshe Shelley
pretty much a saint
in this trade
so
deadly serious (that
you convinced yourself was
all about
markings and meanings
whiff
of ink
on a page)
poems 2 die for