Joshua Keiter

All the brands are broadcasting
we’re all in this together
which is why you should buy

our thing instead of another
or hand over your data
which we promise we will only sell

at a tremendous profit
meanwhile they are blocking
the ambulances on the freeway

with extraneous vehicles as
they stand gathered against the glass
wearing familiar red imported hats

to voice their bluster concern
that the propaganda they consume
isn’t making them sick enough

meanwhile the paper of record
puts the photos of hospital workers
in black and white relief

as another way of saying
this hasn’t happened like this
in over a century and shouldn’t

be happening now except
for all the warnings in plain sight
that didn’t make it to our eyes

someone was blocking the view

Some days a day passes
if you’re lucky
and it takes on an air

of familiarity
which is to say nothing
feels in its own place

the time is out
of joint and bones
rattle in their cages

singing if not for
notes reflexively
revolving around the room

becomes the window
outside of the moon
how many have there been

while you’re still in a chair
connected to a wire
vibrating the world outside

some days and not
too soon you can’t
count if you’re lucky

you’re still alive
and not waiting for the time
when you remember

the days starting over again

Everything is breaking
if it is not already broken

the seams have split
until what is underneath

is over ahead of us now
not even the slightest bit

of ironic postmodernism
would prepare us for

the signature of an angry yam
delivered through the mail

deposited and garnished
as various other wages of sin

this is finally the last straw
no peeking behind the curtain

to see the madman pulling
strings and levers frantically

only one last fever text message
to say love will be done

even if we are no longer
there to deliver it from evil

for thine may be the kingdom
but spit can’t make it shine

and no one can see us mouth
the words we still need to say

‘Merica is tired of winning so much
it has to throw its food away

because it has eaten so much
there is nothing left to chew

and so much left for us to do

Here we are
we are waiting for things to grow

outside or inside
it doesn’t really matter where

the smallest
indication might be the most reassuring

the grave
overlaid with weeds from untending

the path
so smitten with the turning of green

it is as if
no one has walked this way even

in the rain
thunder can’t keep the lightning away

an egg
waiting for its mother to hatch

and even now
with the sound of sound’s replacement

overbrimming
with fertile soil so restless for wake

it can’t keep us out
for we are shedding our old skins now

Here we are
we are waiting for things to grow

Unwritten words hold
fast but slow music
perimeters of thought

what if the mind
retreated to a place
forgotten as one

who knows a language
not unlike this here
terrestrial extra

magnified by doubt
a pasture of plexiglass
clouds move in

along the shroud
covered bleaker streets
sirens swell empty

this dream of life
each day is a night
then a lifetime is gone

a very very mad world
as chords break
into singular notes

strung together to make
a whole of silence
and words form around

echoes of old songs
singing open windows
cold and broken

hallelujah

The sanctuary
is empty
but so is the tomb

The faces
are scattered
all over the room

The music
is played
the words they are spoken

The bread
is baked
and then it is broken

We are
not present
we only are here

We join
together
in love not in fear

The sun
will rise
the grass is so green

We live
again
though as yet unseen

In the stillness
of broken unease
and silence

of a thousand
thoughts raging
one camera’s

focused vigil
on a fireplace
in the woods

with no one
there except on
the other side

crackling embers
fall and rise
in the quiet

nothing speaks

And when the end arrived it
gave up the ghost in the machine
not for change only to start

another round earn endless lives
but this sponge at the end
of a branch barely reaching

the thirsty throat which calls
us from behind the stone
into the solemn wine-dark air

why forget since to forget is
to sin only the blood makes
the thorns free in their grasp

of love that commits to the end
knowing that in our beginning
there is no end only love in breath

you breathe in and out again

I keep night daydreaming
that the worst never comes
to pass and spring arrives

in evanescent technicolor
and we return to the new
normal only it’s not normal

and we keep wearing day
pajamas which are totally
different from night pajamas

and no one goes back to work
or logs on to the internet not
even for a little bedtime apocalypse

we just go around hugging everyone
like we used to in those shows
and movies they used to film

just a few weeks ago but now
seem horribly out of date
if not downright irresponsible

because it turns out in the end
what we owe to each other
is everything we took for granted

but cannot take for granted anymore