Jessica BARON




Election Year
 
Be indifferent or neutral to the little game.
Bash indifferent or neutral to the little gamma.
Your vulgarity turns me on.
Your wadding trundles me on.
To red belief, intoxicating and in vain.
To red bellwether, interspersing and in vain.
All these potholders can not compare.
All these potsherds calm not commiserate.
To the softness of a bright fluorescent.
To the sojourn of a bright flue.
Or a hip four-wheeler, rugged and unwieldy.
Or a hip fracas, rugged and unwieldy.
Endorse this candidate or that one.
Encourage this cane or that onset.
No matter.
No mausoleum.
Hard work doesn’t pay.
Hard workman divulges patrol.
Take sides.
Systematize sidesaddle.
Neutrality helps the oppressor.
Newscasts heave the opus.
Our illicit activity aside.
Our illicit adage aside.
You spoil me.
You splash me.
It is a lukewarm bath of neglect.
It invokes a lukewarm bathysphere of neighborhoods.
 






Regardless

 
all sort of things think about how
scholars label
 
African Byzantine
mentally lost perspective
 
counter approach it
ways in which crux
 
equation reversed constrained within
text insisting
 
the fourth experience
building blocks logic games
 
define content
pick one outcome
 
form as a problem how do you write
generative new form
 
whether you see black mountain
small magazines terms
 
shifts and disruptions pointing arrows




 


Lightning

In the question:
the questiny one holds
back from renouncing.
 
From renouncing, from giving its answer
forbid me to meet its answer for
which I did not desire.
 
I was before
that misfortune I did
not define
and also far away,
the feeling me.
 
I was human.
Not persons;
not to meet its home.
 
Lightning, from a human.
 
Not persons; not totalities,
there is the look-incited place.
 
The look incited place.
The love of wholly.
What the door, the answer!
Its end! In the feeling—
to death. Yet what glanced
on and continues
to enter; I was Beauty:
 
to meet its home.
I was before the question
should happen to me: Look!
I burned and preserved
on it; I was Beauty:
 
to pursue the signs.
Flashes of which one
continues to pursue
that I adored a face,
this strange desire was outside.
 
Somewhere was before
the face that continued to seek,
that glanced on and named being,
that destiny, the door, the answer for which
I did not pursue,
so powerfully cast.
 






 
Grass Roots
 
There is that thing in the sun,
boulders, one stone not left
we find at spring. Between.
We go, the work another:
the dogs, the gaps, just game.
Of kind some loaves some so,
it is not we: OUR BACKS
ARE TURNED! Only make good
across apple. No cows
here, there; his head notion.
Was I in? Out? It’s not
exactly to me he moves.
Make good again behind
his saying top by stone.
There is something.
 


 






 


 





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