by Gretchen Meixner

In this city, I have discovered
A certain chaotic rhythm
Penetrating the in-grown graffiti
& a wonton looseness of the soul
Hovering vacantly around the half-dead
Trees which struggle to resist
Disappearing with the natural light.
I look across the bay, and see Gatsby
His green light flickering uncontrollably
A result of cheap bulbs & splintered fuses
Here I have learned
How to coagulate blood in my mouth
A hurried, but silent desperation in my pace,
The swirl of high beams and starlight
Reflecting pornography, poverty, polygamy,
Invasive evasion & the indomitable American dream.

He asks me to bed
Grinning, cold mash still coating his teeth,
Branded and beloved by addictions,
More faithful than he or I.
I think we used to sleep together
Back when Fitzgerald was still taught in schools
And we were both unmasked & able,
Today’s placid & lackluster seduction attempts,
Suggest otherwise.
I remember those curved, unyielding sheets
Echoing a hundred indignant cries
For shame, for mother, for softer pillows.
Where did I find this sad escape?
Sitting at his desk,
Impersonating Van Gogh
Using crayons in place of oils
Is he of me, or of this place,
Or of this place in me?

I drink coffee to quiet the warnings
& just keep walking faster, every time I
Hear the mournful wail of a passing train
Feeling the full weight of relentless self-indulgence
Infatuations causing my stories,
To spread across the evening news,
Next to wars, & Romanovs, & missing sons & hurricanes,
I make a new section in the paper
Titled “Weekly Woes”,
Interpret Tolstoy by references in my own writing.

I am Anna Karenina, &
I do not know war
Beyond the glare of the subway.
I match your revolution with my own
Annihilation of idealism &
Desecration of my body by petty heathens
Other survivors, one more cannibal.

The city is running out of artistry
I & our will is corrupted
Till we can only follow ancient forms
Eye for an eye, sex for solace,
A boy’s impotence
Shuddering pathetically in my hands

God is taking the next train out
Hoping to find a place without
Deeply rooted perversion &
Cynicism off children’s tongues
So we see him, circling,
Patting his conductor’s face
To keep him alert.

Insignificant to our Gods & Others
We have swallowed our eyes
& left only lids & shadows
To cover our idyllic shame
We read books with hungry stomachs
& make vengeful love with our ingratitude.

In this city, I have learned
If I can still learn at this
State of blind & flaccid weariness
Not to fear consequences or karmic resolve
Of my melancholy, or hasty weaknesses
Time will suspend my growth, &
Make bold men with bolder intentions.
Towers will be taken down by fancy & frenzy
We will suffocate in our homemade cells
& let our cancers break out & invade,
Stilling our hearts,
Feeling them burn through our lungs.