A Different Sort Of Manifesto

by Joseph D. Reich

all i can kind of tell you
     is that life & existence
                kind of seems like
                         all that small print
                                i don’t care to read…
all those tiny creatures
                   from evolution
                           i see in passing
                                        after being pulled
                                                             under the undertow…
having revelations
              after being tossed drunk
                                                  through the window
                                                                        of white castle…
never saw my whole life
                    pass right in front of me
                                              but like always
                                                             saw right through them
                                                                                      & their false sympathy…
scenes from the pharmacy
                           & a food fight
     which suddenly
                 breaks open
at the chinese buffet
                   for no explicit reason
spending the rest of the evening
                                 reading dostoevsky
faintly contemplating
                  all those cornfields
                                         of dusk
which got you home
                           in one piece
                                        as if any of that shit
                   or was at all relevant…
(as an addendum & an aside
could never stand the state
of mind of the eccentric
who always came across
or felt like some built-in
excuse for arrogance,
self-absorption & really
poor character & behavior
thriving off rationalization…
strange & fucked-up thing about human nature
they never ever seem to really appreciate your
confessions always coming from the most
sincere & honest & modest of places
& with this repetition of behavioral
patterns perversely appear to turn
resentful as if you were just making
excuses & were literally baring it all
for assholes who never really deserved
it in the first place & never see them
again & in retrospect thank the lord…)
   reading all those directions in español
                                            just for the fuck of it
                                                            & still coming up
              with the perfect jumbo jetliner
                                   balanced up on top
                                                  my childhood dresser
                                                                  high on model glue
                      you know the ones
                                   which always went down
                                                       never quite made it
                                                                    & people kept on taking
                                                                                     in that strange decade
                                                                                                         of the seventies…
all’s you really need
in the long-run is a
window far enough
away from it all
to observe
the passing
the changing
of the brutal &
delicate seasons…
separating truth from all those
false truths they try to so
blatantly bullshit & brainwash
you as being reality & virtue…
                                                     i was the one always found
                                        lost in translation
                      caught between tenses
                          giving great long elegies
         of pillow talk
                   whispering sweet nothings
                               into the ear of my one-
                                                     night stand lover
                                                             cracking one-liners at funerals
                                                                                               predicting the future…
can’t believe those centerfielders
                                   i grew up with
                                                 & loved & idolized…
                              cleon jones from the mets
               & kirby puckett from the twins
   eventually got nailed for some sort
of sexual perpetration…
                 “it’s a saturday night and i aint got nobody…”

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