poem for the erstwhile revolutionary

All of our remaining wars will

not be fought in the jungles of South East Asia.

No glittering fuselage will gallop thru a blue sky

and slay the beams of the north tower.

no.

the next war will be fought out of a "Frozen" back pack

in the pantry of your 30 year neighbor. When we accept that

Cromagnon was really just a jilted bride being vengeful,

or that the orismology derived from the gathering of the suns rays

like gilded arrow heads is what crazy people mean by heaven. Or

that prayer is really no one else's business. And yeah

I fucked up in high school. Threw neurological stimuli across

locker rooms. Talked in person to my 2 friends,

danced to James Brown songs in the school gymnasium.

Had a fight or two, fell in love (thrice)

stuck my middle finger in a multitude of beautiful things. What I am

saying is that

growing old is not any discernible, coherent system. And you can

stake your claim for being the original man

even while Chicago is the Catholic hell

and Detroit, the patriarchal, orthodox father

we go to visit on vacation.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

a war against technology....and how we no longer talk in person...and dance to songs...we just listen in headphones...in our own little world....i had the Catholic hell...near Chicago..suburb...and those vacations were haunting....taking work home with me...battling to find belief in something.
this is a journey for me...and by the way...back at SIU in 1969...Saw James Brown in concert...wild ...200 of us were up by the stage dancing to the last couple songs...
my buddy and i were the only two caucasians out of the 200...he was mesmerizing...
j.

[h d e rushin]

memories....and more memories....thank you dearest Jacob for yours and mine....dana