Anselm Berrigan (NYC, USA): Eight poems from Have a Good One
Have A Good One
The promise of a hard-won exuberance
brought you near. The need to be
around the most people doing
something was a fucking magnet. From
running races to making copies to
delivering packages, promotion became
a recognizable cycle, if always
with a clear ceiling or escape hatch.
The latter you design, though awareness
of authority in that regard can be
transient. It’s a cheap shot. Honesty
in the making. But do the parts get to
be themselves while part of the whole
thing? And if they’re only themselves
(like I’m only my habits and kindnesses
measuring contact before moving
forward), we’re done. You’ll call me.
I tend to screen. Technology’s
beauty made shapely by the choice.
Bits of it, I mean. Shape is for the birds.
Have A Good One
Choose your own adventure
lacked possibility. Try
coming home to your
wildlife books sold off
by adult creep types
after enduring Boulder’s
second grade. You’re hopelessly
out of touch with the culture
you use by looking at. You
can be culture, but not
accused of it. Dream giant
cockroach in the wall
dreams but more often
pull endless string
from the mouth.
Have a Good One
Give me your taxable
contours. The caveman
did. The rain in stride
zoned us to passable
educations reflective
after a time. Our guts
for once don't make
a break for it. Their
deadly attacks merely
entertain inside upon
request: nature feigns
oversight. I'll break
the law for an exo-
skeleton panelist of
woe. Give it back.
Have a Good One
Off the record he’s a piece of shit. Time
management I don’t buy. Just tell me
what’s happened. Whatever it’s going
to be is what I need to know.
Have A Good One
I don't name animals.
I don't steal their forms.
The water sprayer does not
stalk my automatic rage.
Barbarian camps circa 235
A.D. are hardly worthy of
condemnation five hundred
years later. Goodbye health
plan. Goodbye semi-motivated
half-life of an identity.
Have A Good One
My mission tonight is to
not get so drunk I can't properly
introduce. It's surprisingly easy,
because I'm thinking about experience.
Have A Good One
Burying the duck crumble
with beer, while it pretends
to the elucidation of principles.
The shaver sucks face.
Scotch shirt proudly wrinkled.
Parisian sidewalk stains &
their lack of warmth. Remember
lava flowing freely all
around us, stains with
warmth? I've had a
great life. But I ain't
going out like that.
Have A Good One
It's become harder and harder
not to take responsibility. For
all of it. Every bastion of
disrepair, every qualified public
apology for ill-tongued remarks.
Every pasture of re-despair, every
made up resume of a sorry. It's
been harder not to undergo surgery
or plead for indifference from the
feds. Don’t you see them seeing you?
Remember when them seeing us was
what we wanted? And yet I was in high
school: The President's Daddy
was the President.
© Anselm Berrigan 2007
The promise of a hard-won exuberance
brought you near. The need to be
around the most people doing
something was a fucking magnet. From
running races to making copies to
delivering packages, promotion became
a recognizable cycle, if always
with a clear ceiling or escape hatch.
The latter you design, though awareness
of authority in that regard can be
transient. It’s a cheap shot. Honesty
in the making. But do the parts get to
be themselves while part of the whole
thing? And if they’re only themselves
(like I’m only my habits and kindnesses
measuring contact before moving
forward), we’re done. You’ll call me.
I tend to screen. Technology’s
beauty made shapely by the choice.
Bits of it, I mean. Shape is for the birds.
Have A Good One
Choose your own adventure
lacked possibility. Try
coming home to your
wildlife books sold off
by adult creep types
after enduring Boulder’s
second grade. You’re hopelessly
out of touch with the culture
you use by looking at. You
can be culture, but not
accused of it. Dream giant
cockroach in the wall
dreams but more often
pull endless string
from the mouth.
Have a Good One
Give me your taxable
contours. The caveman
did. The rain in stride
zoned us to passable
educations reflective
after a time. Our guts
for once don't make
a break for it. Their
deadly attacks merely
entertain inside upon
request: nature feigns
oversight. I'll break
the law for an exo-
skeleton panelist of
woe. Give it back.
Have a Good One
Off the record he’s a piece of shit. Time
management I don’t buy. Just tell me
what’s happened. Whatever it’s going
to be is what I need to know.
Have A Good One
I don't name animals.
I don't steal their forms.
The water sprayer does not
stalk my automatic rage.
Barbarian camps circa 235
A.D. are hardly worthy of
condemnation five hundred
years later. Goodbye health
plan. Goodbye semi-motivated
half-life of an identity.
Have A Good One
My mission tonight is to
not get so drunk I can't properly
introduce. It's surprisingly easy,
because I'm thinking about experience.
Have A Good One
Burying the duck crumble
with beer, while it pretends
to the elucidation of principles.
The shaver sucks face.
Scotch shirt proudly wrinkled.
Parisian sidewalk stains &
their lack of warmth. Remember
lava flowing freely all
around us, stains with
warmth? I've had a
great life. But I ain't
going out like that.
Have A Good One
It's become harder and harder
not to take responsibility. For
all of it. Every bastion of
disrepair, every qualified public
apology for ill-tongued remarks.
Every pasture of re-despair, every
made up resume of a sorry. It's
been harder not to undergo surgery
or plead for indifference from the
feds. Don’t you see them seeing you?
Remember when them seeing us was
what we wanted? And yet I was in high
school: The President's Daddy
was the President.
© Anselm Berrigan 2007
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