Alan Botsford – Ⅱ

 some mamaist PR for i(magi) nation

 

 

 

 

The brainwashed cranium HQ–it’s the business at hand.

Well, what needs saving? it asks. The past,

It replies (reaping lies), which our dreams reveal to us

Each p.m., Alice-like, which the a.m. Humpty Dumpties, a bounty

Each of us has to treasure but that promises to Adam & Eve

Us into our own worst enemy, McCarthy-ized and witchhunted

Into a Shakesperiance we live to re-make ourselves for, lest we be

Day-carted off behind reified barbed wire and left cravenly method-acting

On the fake set of our true self evermore, evermore, spots unchanged.

Yes, the clock is running out on who we used to be. Watch

As we fall to pieces… Top billing at this wrecking party?

A wise-guy fighting the seething man who would B.B. King, Derridada-ed

In quotation Marx—while plagiarizing public opinion out into the open!

For if you’ve lost so much the sun, the moon, through hugs and tears, will burn

Brightly, and when lost is found there’s no telling what you’ll see!

Like a Batman de-camped to harness the depths

Of the cave, you strive to meet your daily deadlines for the nightly headlines,

Going door to door for pseudo-events that, past lust, past dust,

Are more and more like receding finish lines…

Now I’m robbin’ (W.C.) Williams, or fields long since despoiled?, now I’m

Howlin’ ‘BeGinsberg!’ now I’m XL-ing at XS of E.T.’s Eliot,

All dem faces agog with society’s dead poets still

Seeking their homeland’s sick-cure—like Ailin’ Watts

All lit up and X-rayted from within, knowin’ now as I do

Whatever past is locked away holds the “ki” to the future.