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Poetry by Stacy Black

A Tide Pool of Piss

Occurs in nature only in the vicinity
Of an ebbing tide of piss
And beyond that, an ocean of piss.

A man hurls his phone into it
Where it bobs and sinks
Through undulating waves of piss.

Spiny fish who live deep in the piss
Where it is night forever
Avoid it. It finally settles

Silently onto the silty and pissy
Ocean floor. The man
From before buys a new phone

With a superior camera but
Identical memory. He takes a selfie
Under a piss rainbow.

Being a Poet

Is so stupid. It’s
Basically an insult

To your forebears,
Who did little other

Than work hard,
Maybe taking a break

To go to war. You
Went to grad school

And got drunk a lot
And maybe accidentally

Said something true.
You pay close attention

To your peers,
Whom you hate.

In an event as terrifying
As an unexpected eclipse

A poet can achieve
Success, becoming

The proverbial unicorn
Who drives on others.

Who gazes wryly
From a dust jacket.

Who divides their time
And also writes prose.

I’ll Kill My Idols but What If My Idols are Sonic Youth?

It’s like your life’s work becoming a meme
That goes viral

And gets incessantly referenced by campaigning politicians
In their transparent attempts to seem folksy”

It’s like writing your name on water before that was cool

It’s like eating ribs in a public bathroom
Or ironic cannibalism…anywhere

It’s like only being able to express your feelings
Through a million layers of irony or in a ska song

Or donning a beret in order to nod thoughtfully

It’s like taking a vow of poverty because it’s the only way
To not have your opposition instantly commodified
By the capitalist entities you are seeking to destroy

Which is awesome and righteous and all
But you’re unsure about staking your existence
Entirely on moral authority as it relies heavily

On others witnessing it and answering its call
By acting in kind…

It’s like quitting drinking every day

First tattoo, neck tattoo

It’s like inheriting several billion dollars
And constantly flying all over the world
And indulging every selfish wasteful whim

But then waking in a cold sweat one dark midnight
Thinking, what if the world isn’t actually ending

It’s like you got them
But never know when to smoke them

It’s like gazing over a field at sunrise
And in the golden fog a slender fawn takes a dump

It’s like riding in a hot air balloon and feeling nothing

It’s like getting hopelessly tangled in power lines and feeling nothing

It’s like feeling nothing

Which is like fronting an experimental noise band for 50 years
Then finding out what you really like is silence

Stacy Black

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