Preamble
we the people
no longer finding ourselves obliged
to scatter the future like a flock of pigeons
from a tyrant’s statue
& with our hopes jammed
like illicit content
on rogue broadband
do hereby declare
that we are not
never have been
& never will be
“the people.”
(so much for your definitions
lurking like razors
in the wet dark
behind molars)
second point:
being desirous
of redeeming the coupon
which was whispered about
behind the windbreaks
of false springs
& on the shop floors
of adolescence
(& which i, the penman,
saw leering in a sidewalk piss-stain
as i rushed sweating to this meeting)—
being desirous
of claiming the credit proffered
but not endowed
the system suggested
but never secured
the machine murmured of
but not yet assembled,
do hereby declare
(notwithstanding
your icy fear
of excluded middles)
that we are changing our name to
—wait for it—
—it’s a good one—
(means-tested
& focus-grouped
beta’d
& omega’d)
the people.
response to objection:
yes,
you onanistic litigators,
of course
the owls
are included
(subject to their option
of withdrawal—which,
judging by the shade
of the sunset,
their lawyers
may well advise)
& so then furthermore
(with the birdshit
falling
& the temperatures
spinning
& the echoes
of ochre
ringing in headphones)
we remind all tax collectors
pollsters
all butlers to superheroes
& consultants
all dividers
supremacists
& essence-
mongers—
that light
is a wave
& a particle
too
—read that, &
be warned,
o dualists
o creeds
okay,
having been duly reconstituted,
& conscious of our
natural
& unnatural rights
(from wherever
and however they come;
this isn’t metaphysics;
it’s a convention;
shut up)
we ask—we demand—
an accounting, &,
while not impeding
progress,
we also won’t pretend
that forward motion
requires not looking in mirrors
—oh & plus
we thought we’d declare
(with the land sweating
& the sea-water seeping
& the eyes rushing up
from the deep)
that we
the people
being made of protein
electricity
& time
& as the children
of every last gnat-breath
& snake-tongue
& rock-fart
that ever
in the long song of ages
ruffled the curtains
of any god’s door—
we declare that we
—aren’t about anything—
—we are anything—
& anything
now looms
over your shoulder
like a window
of a river rushing—
you feel the shadow
sliding—
you sense the senses
slipping—
so turn round,
or don’t,
bend over
or run—
we can’t,
like death,
be escaped.
Article 1
(structure is
a mobile fish farm
lowered into
rushing streams)
the main body is a circle
whose lines cut us
at angles that vary
by season & need:
at the beginning
it slits our necks
so that our heads are inside
facing each other;
this procedure can be repeated
once a decade
or when our jugulars
so throb with anger
& our chloroplast
so maldistributes
the ichor
that equilibrium
demands a beheading
later the circle will slice at our shoulders
leaving our arms inside to grasp or wrestle
our fingers to play or poke
our elbows to angle
this’ll be good for getting things done
pointing out directions
& holding blossoms in the palm
like a gull on a springtime swell
at some point our butts will go in
which will mean
it’s time for dancing;
we foresee
in our infinite
incipient wisdom
that a certain amount of healthy mooning
might do wonders
for those putting on airs
—that’s just the main body—
—our bodies are infinite and pluriform—
the second is a serrated edge
we’ll press ripe fruit onto
trying to slip our tongues
through its teeth.
a third body:
regulatory agencies:
much as we’d like to
run these off computers,
we recently discovered
a fingerprint
on our chips,
and now they can’t be trusted;—
oh well;—
bureaucrats will be chosen
for their susceptibility to nausea
(revolving doors)
and their acquiescence
to demonstrations
of poetic spirit;
beyond that,
all we need for now
are strong standing desks,
some comfortable shoes,
and a sincere promise that human nature
won’t ever climb the stairs
(but the elevator—!)
a fourth body:
atrium for animals
a fifth:
a roll of
highly flammable paper
the kind you use
to initiate purges
of selves and libraries:
it’ll wrap around
the legs of our wealthy
& when little brats
start using their trust funds to
write poetry or flex, we
strike the matches with our eardrums &
make those rich men
fly
— — — ;
(that should do it?
we all remember
the bad trip
of the Senate)
—okay,
yeah,
enough scheming:
the order of operations is
JUSTICE <–> EFFICIENCY <–> CHANCE
(divided by
whatever the ocean-trench gurgles)
Article II
hey, we can
talk
we can
swarm
we can
hustle
but we can’t
do anything that
clogs the sewer
man if
only it were
that easy.
you get one day
to be a dumbass.
you get one week
to be a saint.
you get your year
of living aimlessly
& your decade
to make amends.
when the path
is walked
& the weeds
replanted,
let’s talk.
until then:
it’s not
really so hard
to tax the silent money
or to ground
the planes.
just takes practice
at playing cards
with the lights out
& making voyages
across town.
so then:
practice.
& patience.
& planks across
muddy fields
& new planks
each spring.
new planks.
over again.
Article III
no take without giving
no lines without curves
no banks without rivers
no nouns without verbs
no roads without forests
no work without time
no gods without devils
no law without crime
no me without you
no you without it
no sight without hearing
no song without spit
no prisons
no prisons
no prisons
Article IV
oh, but
keep the pot boiling
& don’t ever trust
the gas supply.
businesspeople are evil/
normal/good
the dancers have the authority to
regulate all motion
a parliament of birds:
sure,
why not.
sort it out
amongst your neighbors but
look out for
that guy.
Articles V–∞
what, you think
a lottery is best?
trust is
an absorbent soapstone, greed
a passing schist.
just accept that
all is mud,
stop burning the damn fossils,
go vegan
& at the age of maturity,
get ready to let that
bass line drop—
[fill in the rest with your dice]