Joshua Keiter

Sclerotic insistence 
That it is divisive 
To point out 
The divisiveness 
Of one’s own 
Divisive rhetoric 
Is probably what keeps 
These divisive fascists 
From any kind of 
Decisive accountability 
They may keep insisting 
Their derisive platitudes 
Will keep playing 
To the peanut gallery 
But that is undeniably
A losing proposition 
Since the shells are 
Already scattered 
Knee deep on the floor 
Behind the barricaded door
Those who know how 
To survive learned in school 
How difficult is it to endure 
A little inconvenience 
To keep your constituents 
Alive you fools

Still getting acquainted with 
The way they tend to plants 
In our apartment complex 

Apparently the bushes and shrubs 
Around the buildings were 
Growing out of control 

Although it seemed like 
The plants had reclaimed some 
Sense of decorum since the shape 

They took on their own was covering 
The windows out of which 
We could see them growing 

A crew of men in yellow shirts 
Were hacking down the branches 
And kicking found soccer balls 

For most of the day today 
Until there was little left but 
Severe unassuming nubs 

That only time will determine 
If they will ever grow back 
In the meantime the view from 

What we discern are empty units 
Across the way has been reclaimed 
We can see the curtained windows 

Which now seem to be framed 
By the horticultural devastation 
The branches were carried away 

One would hope to be recycled

Thinking of the unfinished 
Stories we have yet 
To begin begets an ending 
Not unresolved but glossed 
Over as in looking at the index 
For some indication where 
The reference might find 
Its antecedent no accident 
There is none to be found 
Just a uniformed person 
Heroically provoking the terrorists 
Up the stairs past the open door
Still un-evacuated proving 
A riot is easily distracted 
By its own prejudices

Five years ago 
Around the time 
David Bowie died 
I was having delusions 
I would soon become 
The lone inhabitant 
Of a dying earth 
Hurtling toward the sun 
After unleashing 
Through my own 
Most grievous ignorance 
The end of the world 
I cannot say for certain if
The intervening five years 
Have slowed down 
Or accelerated such 
Far fetched delusions 
But I snapped out of them 
Eventually and when 
I could listen to music again 
I turned to Bowie and 
Recognized similar visions 
Proving once and for all 
The anxiety of influence 
Must influence anxiety 
The insurrection of memory 
Turns out to be 
Who we were all along

Well
I’m not 
A scientist 

But I know 
All things 
Begin and 

End 
In 
Eternity

I was genuinely surprised 
To see the sunshine this morning 

As if sending a message 
That all the white smoke and gas

Could be burned off 
With a little photosynthesis 

And the world could be 
Technically in color again 

Even as rats departed 
The sinking ship to ensure 

They would not have to invoke 
The 25th before too long 

Their crimes will come to light 
The sun will see to it

The best a presidential historian 
Just could muster is 

I don’t mean to leave everybody 
Hanging but 

We’ll just have to wait and see if 
Our system holds 

You and I have children and they 
Are in danger tonight 

The country the country is in danger
The newscaster 

(In another building due to the ongoing 
Emergency) 

Explained while the historian nodded 
And nodded putting 

A period on this unprecedented day 
That is still happening

It is perhaps entirely 
Within 
The realm of possibility 

That somehow even through
The midst 
Of an age such as this one 

We grow in almost two 
Separate 
Yet transparent dimensions 

To appreciate in our lack of
Absences 
The sound of a face 

The smile of a voice 
Enacting play
The only way we know how 

Which is still human
Within

They have been saying 
We are so close now 
If we can just get through 
The next two weeks 
Or two shots 
Or two months 
It will all be over 
But they did not count on 
So many of us forgetting 
What it means to be close 
To something or someone 
Having kept imposed distance 
For so long even though 
It seems reasonable 
At this point to be nostalgic 
For those lonesome days 
In the early spring
When the earth could 
Hear itself breathing again 
Because we were not crowding 
The skies or the roads 
With the particulates 
In their pervasive proximity 
That will eventually after all 
Herald our own destruction 
When this is all over 
So close and too soon