After Joe Dante (Deadpan)

-for Dottie, on her birthday

Nothing will beget nothing here across the
Distance of these thresholds remembering
Them posing tourists in another summer

Before terrorism or your youth outgrows
Itself swerves in another glass no memory
Will capture the summer here ways a sun

Doesn’t seem to comprehend things the
Eyes say to us at night cross like neighbors
My (Joe) Dante flings over this cartoon stru

ggle abysses nation the fantasy called nation
A way our childhoods flee from us like the
Wish had already come true flowers bloom

In retrospect suppress the wind everyone is
Evil writing their private poems addressing
Them if this is the address you meant to send

Me too will you be a Beatrice of sorts among
More desirous Gizmos Gitmos Quiznos this
Past week was the 20th anniversary of the

Exxon Valdez spill dear Orientalist dear neg
ative stereotyping you make our dreams come
True a cartoon coming on my head makes all ideas

Veritable the mirrors around our past booty call
This body when there is nothing to control no
More no more remote controls called subjects

Just this panning of the camera without an
Object upon which to rest its focus just this
Feedback cranked up beyond recuperation

Just this feeling no where left to go except
Up into singularity or poverty the gutter or
A c boundary where your former wishes are

Former selves and seeing ghosts is pretty
Much our everyday as one is not I anyway
Or we or the dead or any name we shall become

In the fire of our wishing in time that we
Should be called by but unheard we will
Not hear it called back by governmentability

Memories and screen fantasies approximate
Experience over-socialize another vision
A Baroque in love with their shadows again.