THREE POEMS – Ben Nardolilli

Image: Kurt Schwitters – Opened by Customs (1937)
Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, fwriction, Inwood Indiana, Pear Noir, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is looking to publish a novel so he doesn’t have to read about asbestos litigation all day.

 

At the Hub of Things

This quiz is losing me. Look, I’m not Golda Meir. Another quiz
guesses I’m a woman, but anonymous: 29 years old with three kids.
It says I’m in a relationship. It says I love Game of Thrones and hot dogs.
The answers may be off, but it’s better than what I got from the FBI.

Other tests say I’m a Pocahontas and you’re a Sleeping Beauty.
Did you make a quiz? That’s great, I’ll take it, if you take mine, and down
the endless clickbait hole we’ll go. Who knows if we’ll finally end up
with anything approaching a spookily accurate answer

Policy Implications

In these lean years, we continue to grow fat,
…………………………………………………a theory is off,
we embrace whatever caveats and dollars we can,
to make a system-wide surplus for ourselves,
……………….this is a modern monetary theory

We crowd out better prophets at roundtables,
…………..it’s known the bad chases away the good,
………………………………a debris machine approaches,
in the aftermath of a bubble, another
appears to gather and we are the pricks this time

The final discharge is approaching,
……………………………….redemption will soon follow,
until then, it is time to feel like princes,
responsible for loaning legitimacy to the basic laws
……………….accelerating an oncoming wreckage

A Votive is Prepared 

I would introduce myself if it were not useless.
America and I are a hurricane, the name I had last night
will not be the same as my name tonight,
it’s how you escape the military machine, it needs
names to fit men into ladders of fear, it’s never unsexual

In my eyes there’s a huge, free-floating anxiety,
dreams of destroying time before it kills me,
how else to order the chaos? I’m hostile to men, to women,
to cats and to poor cockroaches. I’m afraid of horses,
and afraid that only murder offers any promise of relief

 

 

 

 

 

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