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Alan Botsford – Ⅲ

a mamaist (re-)order 




I gotta show this to somebody.

I gotta show this to you, I thought.

I didn’t want to explain it.

I didn’t want for you to understand it.

I don’t need it to be valued.

I haven’t had an experience of it to be more than itself.

Let’s look at it together, I thought.

Let’s just enjoy it.

It doesn’t gotta be instrumental.

It doesn’t gotta be exercised in the service of the crisis of the moment.

It’s merits don’t gotta be argued.

It’s demerits don’t gotta be discussed.

I thought, why distance you from it in the real world.

It ain’t just a piece of rhetoric that does or doesn’t gotta chance.

No questions, and no answers, lying in wait.

And in expectation of no praise.

I just had to show it to you.

I just wanted it to be part of the landscape.

I just wanted it to be here in case you needed it.

I’m not asking you to take it.

I’m not asking you to evaluate it.

I’m not interested in it being relevant and adored.

I don’t want to interrupt your day or night with it.

I thought, you have a right to go about your life without it.

You are entitled to your happiness, after all, I thought.

I’m not out to pull any stunt with it.

And I certainly don’t wanna gyp you out of it.

If this were a dead language, why would it need to be revived?

And if it were, does it gotta come back to life the way it was?

How would it feel, I wonder, if it came back in another form?

Who would have thought it could ever happen like this?

It don’t gotta correspond to what you think it is, either.

Meaning-wise, it don’t gotta expand and it don’t gotta contract.

It won’t be gainsayed, and it won’t beg the question.

No cultural battles need be fought over it.

You don’t gotta redefine transparency for it. Or productivity. Or accountability.

This delivery’s just gotta be made, so, I thought, why not make it.

Consider this a delivery, then, that’s been pre-paid.

Prepare yourself for when it comes.