Think of it, crazy rhythms and comprehensible conversational
nonsense words, that’s a party, but man that’s tough
to write at normal speed, because you can only hunt-and-peck
with your left hand, so when the ideas whoosh past
it’s too fast for you, you’re stuck and that’s all there is
to it, with this crawling pace it’s easier to sift out the sand
though, to see the shape of most things.
Is it? Chuckle at your own arrogance, like you’re any closer
to the door or whatever it is in the center, just because you’re trying
my patience, it’s no easier to see the point now
that you’re putting an effort into understanding what
in the name of god is going on, it’s in fact more
frustrating stanzas clawing at nothing, but we’re not to ground yet.
You can instead realize that this poem does say something
about the way disability is double-edged, it forces an awkward power
into movements and speech, in many situations it seems to me
quite useful but I don’t fucking want it, the power to force
placation and pandering, eye-rolling donkeys to chew hay all day.
So you’re an alien, a stranger study to be made
of the world a symbol of how you’ve progressed,
which is not uncommon for the minority, all of us outside
looking in with judging disdain, but me they parade
with my trachea scar, it is horrid but a symbol
of power absolute, feeling a gross unwanted advantage.
Political philosophy is not fool proof at all, obviously
watching chatterers fumble, sweat and vomit
onto my TV screen and into my ears Sunday Morning
proclaiming what they’re told, whatever they’re told
regardless, everyone just does their job.
So here’s the challenge, take your job and shove it
whatever it is they expect of you, all of us together
must become uncommon, not just exceptional
but weird and misunderstood, standing on parapets
with a hazy surmise, seeing what’s coming
as none ever could and yelp horrified, by way of stating
the obvious, for we can’t deny it, any more.