Poem for Thursday

The Tapeworm Foundry (an excerpt)
By Darren Wershler-Henry

insinuate that much can be learned from the fact that jackson pollock is known to
have held a job cleaning bird shit off of statues in the parks of new york state andor
floccinaucinihilipilificate andor shut up and die like an aviator andor do a thelma and
louise ending andor work out your own salvation with diligence andor begin to be
sure that if you could only go on long enough and talk and hear and look and see
and feel enough and long enough you could finally describe really describe every
kind of human being that ever was or is or would be living andor work not on the
spectacle of the end but on the end of the spectacle andor be okay with an umlaut
andor duplicate the eventual financial success of duddy kravitz by marketing diet
pills which contain nothing save for a tiny tapeworm andor refuse to go off into a
possible future but instead arrive out of that future so as to make the future present
in the arrival of your words andor see yourself as nothing more than a very simple
vicious circle andor write a book of portmanteaus about an embalmed irishman in
which the last sentence ending in midphrase loops back to link up with the first
sentence beginning in midphrase so that the book completes a cycle with itself
restarting with the words riverrun past eve and adams but leaving in their wake all
of the fragments of a language yet to be combined like so much flotsam and

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My younger son cannot see at all through the eye that's beneath the bruise he got at school last week. This just started last night. The pediatrician and opthalmologist are both apparently too busy packing in patients to compensate for their lack of compensation from various people's fucking health insurance to have time to return my phone calls. I need to call one of them back and demand to know whether I should take him to the goddamn ER or whether it's just (just?) a detached retina and can wait till they deign to fit him in.