just this Con/Jur/d, 4/26/2021 Why didn’t you tell me? Did you even know? Don’t let it be said, I didn’t pass it on, even if you don’t believe me, and why could, would, should you? Certainly, batteries lose their charge and at key moments, like now, wearing headphones, listening to an unfamiliar DJ, who’s got me wiggling, wagging, hopping around the house, between loads of laundry, monitoring an experimental ragu whose umami I’m trying to get to 11 without tasting, and a feeling I need to write, commit, craft, confabulate a poem to stave off mortality. Dancing in my chair, repeating, the “This is it” mantra, when the keyboard charge light goes, out, out, out And I see it clearly, a friend brought it up only a single sunset, sunrise, solar-noon ago, eternal-return promises this will happen, again, again, again A glorious annoyance, impedes me from capturing this hand-waving, hip-arcing, foot-moving dance in words. Lightning captured, fails, as if Prometheus’s liver had never really been eaten by a rapturous raptor, who couldn’t believe their luck, demigod sweetbreads, toxin-free, a cycle of cantankerous craving, ecstatic satisfaction, pained satiation, finally, relaxation, repeats over, over, over and since, despite what we’ve been told, the gods never punished us, sure, sure, sure they cajoled, challenged, called us, to recognize what this long-now is, just this, just this, just this.
Time for a little room cleaning y’all. If you’re just joining us, this is gate(less). Jon Sellers and I referred to it as The Room. Other heterodox traditions have other names. If you find yourself here, know that you are welcome, again, again, and again. I’m glad your here. Right now, your host, sometimes Dr. Con, Sometimes Dr. Concrescence, and sometimes Juris, although always Con/Jur/d, is participating in this year’s “National Poetry Month, 30 poems in 30 days, in order to kick start a few other ‘projects.’
Sit back, relax, and don’t try to understand what’s going on, it helps prevent any injury during re-entry or re-egress.