The Pigeonhole Principles

The pigeonhole principles go thus: i) if you
        press a button too far in the dark, coloniality
        vanishes into a rabbit hole, ii) lock your
        suitcase at your peril, lest it burn the verity
Of all that is holesome, and iii) go where the flow
        takes you, but suspect the master's tools as
        much as you trust the baker's bread, squeaming
        at the principality of it all the way to the bank -

Guy walks into hardware shop; asks for the master’s tools. “What would you be needing those for?”, the shopkeeper asks. “To dismantle his house.” The shopkeeper – a girl named Audre – hesitates first to tell him that would be futile, but then chooses not to remain silent.

this poem will swim in beauty

this poem will swim in beauty
        for it knows the rock that locked
        your breath - and mine - for

longer than the hand that stayed
        in wretched form    the swamp
        that homed the song that

longed for more    longer than the
         field of vows that strung your
         laugh with mine and shed the

longest tear    in missing, in passing
         in warming the word, in warning
         the word    this poem will swim in

beauty -

And here is the data tangent to this poem.

A Shrewd Shaming of the Shrew

It might not be the job of poems to say what can be said better using other forms of saymanship. But if poems float in an unconnected ether for very long, Wakan Tanka’s consternation notches up, and she speed dials Laozi asking him to summon up a new manuscript now that the gatekeepers have changed: something relevant to what Rita Laura Segato aptly calls the apocalyptic phase of capital. It’s up to Laozi then to cough up a new song which might, at first glance, not look like a song at all.