9/18/05

Residency
By Sean Farragher


Where I have not lived
is where we all live again
in the panic of our flashed
eyes as reconstructed past
and present as looms
shred blankets out of noble gases.

Where I live in New Jersey bears the malodor of wanton disgrace,
the theft of property in the name of fair decorum as you will,
the broken promises, the sultry lies, -- the infamous stalked wear
old chains that bang/drag as slaves sold in terrible markets from long ago.

I can smell the old, odd excrement rubbed into wood and stone--
Can you imagine the malodor of fossils set to sky with clean roses?

The water broke. No baby born. Death in what ever formulary
rumbles through the streets

False witness bristles in America. We reassure others that we are gentle folk.
We are liars as subtle graceless blossoms fail as the black sky
leaks into our blind steps – we run from the able truth to mad delusions
settled in our core for evermore. I am not pretending to trifle as I
speak a little bounce more perhaps child on knee. I stand away
as she kicks the upholstery making it clean not dirty.

Walk on water I proselytize. It is thick and putrid
you can balance civilization on its crust;

Mountains will form from the least edge
and the moist robust texture. Watch
the edges of civilization for faults and sin.
Make it calm and smooth and lie well darlings.





xxxx