{"id":3446,"date":"2012-04-10T02:59:04","date_gmt":"2012-04-10T02:59:04","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sporkpress.com\/poetry\/?p=323"},"modified":"2012-04-10T02:59:04","modified_gmt":"2012-04-10T02:59:04","slug":"3-poems-by-michael-j-pagan-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/2012\/04\/10\/3-poems-by-michael-j-pagan-3\/","title":{"rendered":"3 Poems by Michael J. Pagan"},"content":{"rendered":"

SAMPLING THE FUTURE OF GADGETRY<\/strong><\/p>\n

Now, the quiet will come back, no time
\nto write or dream or carve, but I can
\nimitate the whistling of a bullet, and to hear it
\nin the vapor\u2014a very realistic sounding
\nbreath, bellowing: \u201cwhen it is finished, man
\nis finished, man is finished,\u201d<\/p>\n

it\u2019s like communing with a still, small voice<\/p>\n

there was the inevitable scramble for candles, looking,
\nlooking for the moon\u2014all the emphasis
\non technique\u2014the moon, the dear old, lovely
\nold furniture<\/p>\n

go to sleep
\nyes
\nnight<\/p>\n

\u201cDid they use them guns they stole?\u201d
\n\u201cThey didn\u2019t know how to load and fire\u201d<\/p>\n

History cries out for even crimes of magnitude,
\nanyway, my voice is alright\u2014full of sunshine and
\nrunning\u2014hands in pockets, handsome,
\nsmiling mischievously<\/p>\n

something deep down touched, something
\nstirred and died and the moon and the magic
\nwere gone, gone for always<\/p>\n

what an empty, empty world
\n__________________________________<\/p>\n

SHE\u2019LL WAIT WITHOUT A PAWS<\/strong><\/p>\n

. . . most of what mattered in our lives took place   in our absence:
\nyou were my friend,  \t God
\nendow me a space   a clean-smelling house,   and
\nno body taxing   Have you ever giggled as a girl who knew
\nhow to clean up?   After mind leaving   let body leave,   but
\nwhere were they? her? when sound used to carry over water\u2014wailing\u2014
\nwith a big bag full of foreign machines   two more women
\nhung between a curtain   I stand at their window   inhaling the unpalatable loam
\nof the city-less outline<\/p>\n

while weeping into a pillow: I am not   stupid, God
\nI have read several books   therefore,   you and I must now plop
\nhere   and wait   until the end of the world
\n(we are a roughhew of forgetters)
\nHistory is a dark room,   her face blotchy<\/p>\n

and much obliged
\n________________________________<\/p>\n

HERE<\/strong><\/p>\n

where God forgot there were no handfuls
\nof railing\u2014in the full hum of his broken
\nintercourse, they arrived with the dusk\u2014because
\none can only move by pulling those
\nwonderful, shelled fingertips <\/p>\n

(I look, and she is also looking, freely)<\/p>\n

\t     \u201cSuch ordinary props,\u201d she said
\n\t     \u201cThen sit with them\u2014to dream a little\u201d<\/p>\n

And I have very little <\/p>\n

we’ve got five-thousand square feet here, with a couple hundred-thousand dollars worth of equipment for the purposes of turning steel into orgasms We make the highest quality, finest fucking machines in all of the known world, and I’ve built these as if they were headed up into the moon\u2014when they’re actually not Although, I think, it’s not at all a terrible idea I guarantee you, you could hand my products down to your children and grandchildren\u2014stock or tribe <\/p>\n

You see, that’s what they still call “posterity,” and they’re nothing new Just go check the patent offices and history books, and you\u2019ll see. . .<\/p>\n

A body against the sky at dusk
\nis disposable: a row of wind that fits
\nin either hand<\/p>\n

A buckle is the body’s
\nzest\u2014it’s sweet talk
\nAnd her lap: the top of a room, spinning
\non its wangling jawbone But,<\/p>\n

a shared feeling\u2014that is
\nthe voluntary drawbridge operator;
\nlong, pale, copper hair, lanky,
\ngoofy, beautiful Ignorance lying<\/p>\n

on top\u2014like a misread cough or
\nhiss\u2014because absence keeps a hiss
\nto it in the crook of its breath
\nlike a crop bow <\/p>\n

So, we wait, filled up with coal<\/p>\n

     \u201cI’m aware that I am a good judge of character,\u201d she said
\n      \u201cIt’s called: Survival Mathematics\u201d
\n     \t\u201cBut, I’m not claiming to have wings on\u201d<\/p>\n

not on the grass, not while I
\nattempt to reenact I’m
\na completionist who’s fallen
\ninto buying erasure from looters <\/p>\n

\t     \u201cThen arrive at an idea so that the living world can meet you half way,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

So I lied, and she fiddles on
\nwith the blind, showing clean
\nlines with the vague light, and I
\nso tired and frozen when <\/p>\n

I last remembered how I (and she,
\nshe’d admitted to me once) would lick
\nscreen doors and gaze at the bubbles
\ncaught within each miniature
\nsquare<\/p>\n

_____________________________________________
\nBorn and raised in Miami, FL, Michael J. Pagan spent four years (1999-2003) in the United States Navy before (hastily) running back to college during the Spring of 2004. He currently resides in Deerfield Beach, FL, with his wife and newborn daughter, where he continues his work on two poetry manuscripts as well as his first novel. He is a contributor to his alma mater’s blog, The MFA at FAU, as well as his own, The Elevator Room Company, where he blogs about anything and everything that encompasses his writerly life. His work has appeared in Bride Path Press, Screw Iowa, The Rumpus, DIAGRAM, The Northville Review, the Squawk Back, and is forthcoming in The Prompt Literary Magazine. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

SAMPLING THE FUTURE OF GADGETRY Now, the quiet will come back, no time to write or dream or carve, but I can imitate the whistling of a bullet, and to hear it in the vapor\u2014a very realistic sounding breath, bellowing: \u201cwhen it is finished, man is finished, man is finished,\u201d it\u2019s like communing with a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3446","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","category-things"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3446","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3446"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3446\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3446"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3446"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3446"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}