All Inquiry through the Contingency of Language
The truth has a fictional structure.
An excess of historically appropriate mediation.
Has one not lived until one has lived in excess
of a dying seaside town
as is the custom.
Praxis, man. We’re talking about praxis:
two handfuls of a marlin’s heart, skull
entered like a casket. Axed.
Satori on the boardwalk, once.
The truth has a fictional structure:
the past has got to reappear
for the Market is swift, annihilating
time and space
retracting like a shadow one can never catch.
On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?
Empiricism’s subject position, likewise historicized.
America’s thesis-driven, overdetermined. It’s not worth it.
we are playing a game.
We are playing with our idea of us, our calling.
If we show us
we hold us in contempt
if one’s stance while working has dignity, I hope
sweeping chum off the lip of the pier.
Not calling out, not, not seeing.
But I see you
James Capozzi is the author of Country Album (Parlor Press, 2012), which won the New Measure Poetry Prize. Recent poems have appeared in Queen Mob's Teahouse, Posit Journal, and Zone 3. He lives in New Jersey.