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Press It On Just a Little More Firmly

Poetry & Prose | March 23, 2015

We were letting the weather have a very intense effect
on our psyches. We were playing chess and it was driving
us nuts because we weren’t letting ourselves read anything
on wikipedia but rather trying to figure it out ourselves.
It hurt our brains! And our necks later too once we resigned
to bed and pretending we were different people than we were
because we didn’t want to be alone. So simple and fucked.
We watch Adventure Time and then start to watch a movie
but get bored after five minutes and leave the house to buy coffee.
We could’ve made coffee. Agriculture weighs heavy on us,
or something. So does the oppression of every minority
and the horrors of war abroad. It’ll be like last week
or the week before, unless with rage and proportionate poise
we can train ourselves to be hungry like our ancestors
were hungry. Family of quail running over the graves, chirping
and the sun setting low over the empty heath. Always reaching
for this pastoral shit lately but it is here we were born
and it is here we will die, with the snowplow and the acetaminophen tablet,
the optic lens and the iron gate, and also thankfully
the sultry plumes of smoke which rise from factory pipes and the wide
wet mouths of our friends.

A dream of my own last night.

Hundreds of people sitting on massive stairs
by the water. Talking, laughing, wearing clothing
in the sun. And unaccompanied
a girthy figure like Crabbe or Goyle with gym clothes
and a snapback plays the bassline to Waiting Room
by Fugazi over and over and over again. I clap and cheer
along with the rest. This is exactly the riff we’ve all been waiting for.
Exactly the place we want to be.

Art by Jasper Ryden.