HART

Poem
-Matt Hart

This amazing confoudedness
Find nothing so much
As a bicycle wheel spoke
Or a furtive beer bottle,
Or the fact that last night
When you were lying
Through your teeth
About what a good evergreen
You are, I was tellng the truth
About the bathroom stalling
And the thousand horses crashing
Through the bank teller's window.
Really it's nothing or it's everything.
Either you feel complete and satisfied
Or you feel like a fraud deep-frying
In wonderland. My only reference point
Is a three-story super bomb,
One million four hundred thousand
Metric tons of TNT, the end. Now
To feel half alive is a giant
Accomplishment. In government
There are always people trying
To fuse together some mordant anarchist
With a kitten or a boxing match,
And this makes the head trauma
Dreadfully inefficient to manage
Amid the blackouts and job cuts,
Cases of poisoning by radioactive fog,
I don't really care, except I do so it hurts.
I give blood to stop bleeding. Send limbs
To naked treetops. You gotta admit
America's a mess of opportunity,
And this time I'm even hopeful
That the creaking in the ceiling
Isn't the evil in your sweater, but a mob
In the wings, an electorate of mops
And cottonmouth fangs, opening
Their armory and making a pitch
For a darkness so brilliant it's light.