Andrew Levy

from The Real World

Everybody

A bunch of college students just banned the word Quidditch.

It sure pays to have an edge, all kinds of edges.

To broaden the horizon of what gets represented, let’s invent a new poem, a poem
That places itself between protagonist and readers.

Let’s set up a new planet of self-documentation. The living body in the public soul.

I’ll see you in a few.

Okay, the flowers were delivered.

The DOW is down 600-and-something points.

I gave a check for ten million to my friend who has been without any means of existence.

You, on the other hand, must not look in that direction or you will turn into a pillar of salt.

On the inside salt will finger the perp with an extra syllable until daylight.

Pepper walks through the palace and easily abides in the nervous system.

There are no laws
When you need one.

Slow Down

To broaden the horizon of what gets represented, let’s invent a new poem.

I’ll see you in 4.5 billion light years.

Protagonist and readers walk through palaces, easily abide. Between new planets
Of self-documentation, the public slips and slides.

Sous vide octopus, fava lentil, chives green oil, black garlic caviar.
Teams are required to moussaka by the gender rule.

Intersectionals vanish in pleats derived from the vanquished.

Cauliflower tiramisu turns my stomach sour. Many people peter out in silence
the less poetic everybody becomes. Before they split the center of innocence communes,
It cannot be saved. A mighty pre-existing chaos ends.

Meanwhile, Moon Knight’s birthright follows upon complexities and denials.
As we’ve said, what’s left? The escaping hero fumbles.

Slow ships don’t stand a chance.
The heart attacks go crazy.

At Land’s End

Who knows what vicarious impulses my sympathy holds. The next
Oscillation, abyss or chasm.

Paradigms or disguises intent as a draft of Buddha.

Never one-sided metaphors like a little door swing open the
Imagination and the carnage in this country, the before or behind,
The ascendancy of being so young and delinquent.

The curve behind the rails, astral straws, the distinguished.

The nature of Nature to dispel the path the horizon
Is counterpoint to & survive.

My own spirit observes the indifferent, the debris of a good atrocity.
Even criminal libel has economic muscle, a facile positioning of the past.
Favorite target of the purple membrane, repeating again and again.

Squeezing tales through a sense of shame. Ready to spring
An invincible eye. Ready to commit any crime.

Dark irony, Self-flagellating Introspection

Manic obsessiveness, and unapologetic moral perversity
Cackles from every age.

I’m trying to control my emotions.

(Right now?

Yeah…)

To console and compensate somehow, any how, the injuries.
That old helpless rage at it all.

From memory from shadows this kind of pain.

The indigestible or pleasing. What do you see?

Lofty clouds imprecisely printed. Graspability. Jubilantly erudite
Ruthlessness. Impertinent demands. Blatant disgracefulnesses.

The tongue doesn’t have a cough.

An absence of language on the part of my mother.
Continue to hold true.

A Certain Unfinishedness

Wide open.

An end to traditionally patriarchal society as standing next to people.

To make special impressions the spurs transposed into heaven.
I want to thank you and the mouth called ink on the paper of my behavior
Whose name is clearly less uniform.

Unimaginable insincere resistances require instructing.

Differences shrink the contemplative child. We must begin at the top,
Through the encroaching dark like someone who’s sure sparks have long sense talked,
Whose platform reachable by rope ladder feels blessed—into the branches palm
Playing sleep pounding metabolites a snare.

What have you done before? Turned to Turkish coffee? People mistake
Mastery for someone else? Nonhuman intellectual property?

The other side of an opposable thumb.

 

Blushing, beaming. Doing nothing until they do.

Nicked

I have been someone, this is what I have become.

We should be able to hear all the voices coming in and those going out. What is inevitable
And irresistant. Ubiquitous and sacred.

Nobody destroys this possibility and nobody tolerates its destruction. And yet, from his writing desk,
Disenchantment inhabits the subject. Its rigorous architectural elastic symptom.

Cellular segments feel adequate and more fragile. Its limit is a form of appropriation
Between classes. The teacher lays too heavy a hand.

Nothing need belong to me or to the end.

The idea we have is new enough. Its ambiguity and alibi does not preexist, nor does
Debt and time, a promissory glitter of what was tried and kept apart.

Perhaps not.

Gunmen break open
An alien distance.

The world’s outside and below.

Andrew Levy is the author of Artifice in the Calm Damages (Chax Press, 2021), Don’t Forget to Breathe (Chax Press), Nothing Is in Here (EOAGH; novella), and twelve other collections of poetry and prose. His work has appeared in numerous American and international magazines and anthologies, including Poetics-for-the-More-than-Human-World – An Anthology of Poetry & Commentary; The Canary Islands Connection – 60 Contemporary American Poets; and Resist Much, Obey Little – Inaugural Poems to The Resistance. Levy’s writing works on the intersections of class and the ecology of commerce, and experimental music and the digitalization of freedom. A drummer, he works in collaboration with musicians and writers on readings and performances.