ANNA MOSCHOVAKIS
[From THE MOODS] THE FUTURE or Optimism, an Epic
[from
THE MOODS]
THE FUTURE or Optimism, an
Epic
Any thing may produce any thing. —David Hume
I.
We have a limited time to read our true
sensations.
She’s all over the place. He’s stuck.
But I want to talk about the sublime
sensation
circulating in trolley cars,
dead for years.
Back at the General Office (G.O.), the salt
is boiling, the
ketchup is burning
Give
them a stake says the god of temerity
Give
them a rake says the god of prosperity
Says the god of calamity,
Give
them an action hero to call their own. Let them bask in the nuclear mist of
inheritance. Let them be renters in apartments filled with dirt
And all sat down to a feast of favors
rubbed each other red
with whispers of the
fall
circuitous gestures of
a seduction
II.
In the rifts between clouds a giant flat
screen
blinks at the rustling
business below
She’s there, Endemia,
darting between buses.
He’s there too, occasionally,
not doing much. He
lifts a finger
to trace his name in
a windshield:
Anodyne
They are and are not involved in the
business below
They are and are not caretakers of the dust
tavern
But I want to be able to say a thing
without sleeping with its
contradiction
They are involved in the business below
but if they disappear
they will not be missed
oh enlightened
philosophers
they will not be missed
and their jobs at the
tavern
will be easily filled
from a waiting list as
long as the aisles
of
Is a person a fact or a function?
(the goat of
industry says Give them doubt)
III.
The book of doubt is open on the table
I fell asleep between the pages of doubt
Between the crosshairs, a curtain dropped
between us
and the book, and the
doubt
The emblem of a sleeve is emblazoned on the
arm
The emblem of an arm is emblazoned on the
skin
It is eminently interpretable
She walked in the rain of sensation,
brushing the emblem of
tears from his face
There are only two poetries to speak of
IV.
Is a person a fact or a fiction?
Endemia sees a name traced
in a windshield.
It is Feast Day.
Between rifts in
the clouds,
a giant flat screen
plays Azure Fields.
On the dashboard she makes out a parking
ticket
a pack of condoms
and a slip of paper.
She reads:
Let
every thought be allowed
The book of doubt is a comedy
with a terrible ending
V.
For his part, Anodyne sleeps on the street
He sleeps through Feast Day
He sleeps through Promise Day
He sleeps through Regret Day
He sleeps through Personal Gain Day
The goad of meritocracy says, Give them yards and meters
and the
propensity to use them
Anodyne is twelve feet tall
which makes him just
about average
He depends on the judgment of others
like a flea on fur. He
does not embarrass easily
I picked up this book at a party
There were lines all over it. The woman
I was drinking with got sick in the hall
September is the cruelest month
to be surprised by
rain
When the weather comes the clouds close up
and nothing plays for
the people
VI.
Nothing is happening so they make something
happen
A approaches E, like
a penny viewed from
a plane
Is this all that is supposed to happen?
A candy bar walks into a bar
The bartender hides his book behind a
bottle
I write a word and then I write another
word and that makes me want to tell a story
She says, I believe you stepped on my thumb
He says, I believe it is a beautiful thumb
Let
them believe everything and believe in nothing
says the ghost of
fiction
appendix one:
E
felt cautious at the opening of the world.
A.
learned to smile by pulling on his ears.
Nothing was happening, or was it?
They
put ear to ground, ground to ear.
Silence waved like
an electric fence.
VII.
Any
thing may produce any thing. The book
has high production
value. In the off-season
nobody wants to watch the
book
Some people get tan while wearing their
clothes
They are the true believers
Anodyne starts again:
This book is the crookedest
railroad on earth
It is a lesson in history. Anybody who’s
anybody
Who’s who
He dares to ask, wandering, beltless, a fugitive crack
in the fabric of
things
In the rift between clouds a reason appears
The traffic patterns are beautiful
A man is supported by a liquid cane
A stallion shrugs its shoulders
and the tourists die
laughing
I have never found reason a good enough
reason
appendix two:
Is
it evening or has time gone on strike?
Let’s
go to
“God,
I’m desperate”
Anodyne’s
private excuse
They
kiss in the coffee-way
trailing
behind the tanks
Everything
might explode
The
possibilities
to die for
Endemia
doubles up at the thought
“Now
that I owe my life to science
I can join the
human race.”
VIII.
Endemia is sore
Sore at the fabric chafing her knuckles
Sore at the fact of an intersection,
its complexity lost on
a public gone south
for the duration
Will these two ever be brought together?
The ghoul of obscenity says, here, here
and leads them into a
dark digression
in a private language
under the cloud of love
IX.
There are only two poetries to speak of,
well or ill
Says the card of empire: I rule by instinct
The book of doubt has been confiscated
even the fire can’t
touch it anymore
X.
Anodyne wants to know: is this love
or complex wealth
management?
Why am I freezing when I’ve paid my rent?
Why can I only feel bodies
through the glove of
interpretation??
This is a story about the rift in the sky
A myth of origin, nothing more
than a voice in the hall
climbing up the stars
What do you believe?
Better to speak
in a language you
don’t know
Jack of all tongues
How do you explain this diversity of
sensation?
The vaccine was stolen
by the World Bank
long before the
accidental birth
of the future
XI.
This is the story of a pair of sensations
Let’s call them people, give them names:
She will be Endemia,
short for disease
Can he help her?
They are ahead of themselves
after the point where
the timeline
is written in pencil.
Nothing is happening so they make something
happen.
E approaches A
appendix three:
The
book of doubt has a lot to say
on the subject of
personal ignorance.
—How
many pairs of shoes do you own?
—Five,
maybe six
—How
many pairs of shoes do you own?
—Five hundred. I
like my feet.
I
like very little about myself
Endemia
frowns.
I
like monks. I’d like to be one,
a monk.
XII.
The book of doubt has fallen open
lands like a song
a rug
a rung below
the business end of
things
—But what do you believe?
(“in the weather
alone”)
Nothing is happening so they make something
happen:
E on the ground running like water,
like fashion
What is her disease?
Her Appendix hanging out,
a vestigial last
word
What’s there to miss? The doctors hit
delete
and called it progress,
called it over
appendix four:
“This
is the age of everything and nothing”
“The
age of the miserable millionaire”
“The
age of sun control, bad habit control”
Endemia
winces at the simple sentiments.
The
crowd doesn’t know how to cook its words.
She can’t do
anything with what they give her.
XIII.
Anodyne fills the field
he used to play in.
He asks: what has happened to the book?
Is anybody there to read the field?
Why does it sting to do anything twice?
Endemia: Fie.
They were born in
which no longer exists
The
and mysteriously
vanished from the map
Why didn’t anybody say anything?
The emperor left a suicide note
It was broadcast from the rift in the
clouds
and whirled across the
hand over hand
Let
them land on each other in broad daylight
And they do