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Bowetry
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Hooked to the Silver Screen
Hunky Dory 1971

Cara Losier Chanoine

I’d like to be a standing cinema,
where I’m the twisted name
on Garbo’s eyes.
I could be living in a silent film,
but I’m much too fast
to take that test.

Instead, all the nightmares came today.
They said,
Homo Sapiens
have outgrown their use.

They said,
You gotta make way for the
Homo Superior.


I’d like to be a gallery,
to showcase the sun that pins
the branches to the sky.
I want to put a peephole in my brain
so you can cleanse my mind
and make it free.

Instead, all the strangers came today
to shake up your bed.
They bought their positions
with saccharin and trust,
with voices like sand and glue,
and just look at those cavemen go,
now.

We were so turned on by your lack of conclusions,
but you gave your heart to every bedsit room
and were lost to me forever.
These children that you spit on,
they said
She’s an old time ambassador,
but she’s so swishy in her satin and tat.


Time to face the strain.
I’m not much cop
at punching other people’s dads;
I’m always beating up the wrong guy.
Instead, I see the mice
in their million hordes,
the tactful cactus by your window,
and it’s such a godawful small affair
in the end.

I’m drawing to the ragged hole,
but if you see the one
who used to be in charge,
tell him we’ve lost his poems—
that our backs are on the arch,
that there’s a taste in my mouth
like the grim face on the cathedral floor.
It’s no taste at all.
Tell him we’ve lost his poems.



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