Anthem


If we think history’s anthemic,
think again. 

The soaring black anthems of jet engines
and nation-states from hell. 

They speak of transcendence 
but what of vacant lots 
with chainlink perimeters
and in the midground
the ugly human soul
and for me,
the paranoid itching 
of dull afternoons,
what of that? Do 
we contain the inventory
of agitation and irritability– 

The myriad cruelties
don’t bother me today. 
Neither do manic energies
reach me, like I’m 
plugged into the wall– 
today sunrise looked like sunset
more red than yellow
the ocean its ambient self, 
everything’s a landscape. 

All these years I’ve
written nothing
yet failed to see 
I thought 
in verse, 

an ashcan went full floral bloom, and bent.