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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


she asks


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.

Ax anyone:


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. 

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