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Karena Youtz

 

 

AUDIO

 

 

A homeless man gives a homeless man

a winter coat

pockets full of cigarettes and candy bars

totally efficient about

what helps

An angel is an activity of the universe not a person

An organ of light

perceives the light

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_____________________________

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A poem hinges metaphysical, words to the poem

like flesh to the person.

Idaho passed a new law. Every small business

must employ a hermetic so possibly I just got a raise

from zero wage to minimum. Now no one in Idaho

will ever starve. Socks for everyone! Coats all around!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_____________________________

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

According to the Doctor I’m Unhappy
Because I’m Drug Free

 

 

Life, dust animated by gusts of space wind.

Even the practical do not avoid calamities. Keats,

the poem also forms the urn's interior half full of

ashes and bone clinkers. A body should not be called remains. The Hubble Telescope

viewing nebulae registers unprecedented photographs until

collided with or declined. Me?

I'm falling apart not washing

Away! Leave the washing to the waves

During the winding down of the clock

the poem holds open possible existence

The words of the Large Poem unfurl

like cloth

The world will be made up again and

again we lay down the shroud on the ground as a blanket

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_____________________________

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Note on Relevance

 

 

A musician not unkindly said, “Poetry is a dead art.”

Yeah, lots of poets share futility like how

dead people are useless and how living

always turns out

sometimes incredibly lonely

laying on the floor of the hole. Dust, black air,

striated walls: what little is perceived

mumbles one's difference from the cave-in

No human activity, no toil, no act dead

or vital has ever striven more.

By a living art, does one mean included in economic transactions?

Making what cannot be avoided?

Does he mean poetry has no audience?

Don't worry (he will not read this) I am not performing

drawing lines towards secret shapings and their stops

Listening exists

Upon the ear poetry acts

and hearing is the last sense lost

 

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