Eyewear is pleased to offer readers a new poem by Michael S. Begnal on this important day. Begnal’s collections are Ancestor Worship (Salmon Poetry, 2007), Mercury, the Dime (Six Gallery Press, 2005), and The Lakes of Coma (Six Gallery Press, 2003). His new book, Future Blues, is forthcoming from Salmon in 2011. Since his time in Ireland, where among other things he was editor of The Burning Bush literary magazine, he has received an MFA from North Carolina State University and presently lives in Pittsburgh.
Dithyramb
The more things change
the more they change, they change:
immortal impossible but
to live long enough
to revolve in the woods, a clearing,
eyes burning with pollen,
the birds enplumed in their trees
will fledge, one after another
night of cars’ bass vibrating, dopplerizing,
sirens screaming, fading,
a black cat there certainly crouching
under a bush
/ then I enter the poem,
and am immediately strong-armed
into a dark garage
where there are no shining mirrors,
no strains of deathless song,
and leering toughs make gestures
hierarchical and lost,
they claim they can define
everyone, that I’m this or a that,
a maker of cloudy cadence, couth—
but of course it’s bullshit
and I’m out along the leaves,
olive-green under the
streetlight lampglow,
the leaves, wet and slick
and always
moving
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