Poem in All Directions
I.
A deep tone in the infancy of time
Our universe sustained the Brown Note
For three-hundred-thousand years
Before the dawn of meaning—
Sad, the only tone in town
Sound so low and alone
Whose name lapsed into infamy
Fled town, flocked back
And got caught up again—
Whose derivative floristry flourished afar
Throw cushions crenelate
The outskirts of an evening sulk
My only enemies are those who talk
Their one desire is me
And what I am
Which is not to be fucked with—
WILL THE DESPOTISM OF THE WORLDLY
EVER CEASE?
II.
Tonight I glower at the stars, selfless expanse of space
And smell the species basting in its piss—
I read Novalis and I hate the nouveau rich.
They drive in any clime. They make up lies
Like 'health' and 'crime.'
They tell the worker how to tell the time.
Then is everyone equally sad?
To feel less chemical, be plastic.
Having been resolved to snuff it, what stop short of death
Should one not stoop to re-enact?
What could I change, the world instead?
My name or destination?
Cam Scott is a poet, critic, and non-musician from Winnipeg, Canada, Treaty 1 territory. He is the author of WRESTLERS, a visual suite published by Greying Ghost in 2017, and ROMANS/SNOWMARE, forthcoming from ARP Books in 2019.