The State College townie kids, bound
to Happy Valley, got their kicks where
they found them, gave off an air of
ennui shot with doom (human life
having granted them no escape valve),
yet were accommodating to me. On
what it means to look around a small
town, and know that it is everything to you,
encompasses all you are, Lords over you
confining curses: to trip with these kids was
to understand these limitations, the magic
& the agony. Lisa smirked, skinny in her boots,
hair cut short but for the one fringe over
her left eye, & passed me water for the E high-
Lisa- after twenty years, the bathroom,
you remember, in The Coffee Cellar,
was all black, with a wide mirror.
Stoned, I dragged you (sweet sixteen) in there
to see if I could kiss you, wrapped in
black leather pants; you banged in
two-inch-high boots, tawny hair-fringe
there, over your eye. I got the kiss; we ambled
out hand in hand; wound up back in
again. You made me vow to you
something I can't remember. How
townie girls talked- I'd nod, get lost.
But the womb-space was complete-
we were safe, ascendant into space, hopeless-
So, you had me on your chopping
block that day; the City Hall court
yard blazed with summer heat. We
were over, that was it. You wanted,
you said, some order & discipline in
your life. Chinatown simmered under
our feet; I looked (futilely) for a GO
board; you bought some incense. You
turned quickly, I tried to kiss you; you
resisted; it was close. Two brains tried
to coalesce into one, about love & us.
Epochs passed; I've got order & discipline
right here, in these lines, Ruth. I trust
you understand. Much of the rest is dust.
The new Adam Fieled Argotist Online E-Book is The Posit Trilogy. Many thanks to Jeffrey Side.
"The Posit Trilogy initiates a cycle, and then repeats it twice: a kind of Father, Son, Holy Ghost structure around the poet's quest to achieve self-hood, through analysis of different kinds of subjectivity (visionary, practical), explorations of dreams (consciousness creating its own kinds of matrixes and mazes to wander around in), and attempted resonances with the American city of Philadelphia (birthplace of America, enchanted by history, architecture, hidden depths, and interstitial, subterranean structures). The cycles that constitute The Posit Trilogy ricochet back and forth, with an eye towards creating a poetic landscape individual, idiosyncratic, and loopy enough to stimulate any human brain receptive to its advances."
Here is the current list of Argotist Online E-Books.
Mike Land & I dropped acid in Logan
Square, danced down to the Drop,
spaced out in the dank basement;
sashayed over to Jen Cho's first floor
apartment on Lombard Street, where
she held court, partying with her U of
Delaware "green" buddies; & huffed some
hash on top of the acid. Mike sat in an
armchair, rocking. Erin, Jen's chum,
sent me purple signals, but Mike had to be
wheeled out of there. Jen's was a floor to
crash on, for Erin & I later. I got my news.
Over at the Drop, Erin's geeks had our number-
I woke Mike up to hear the code: two plugs.
That September night we followed our
party back to a twin near City Hall, under
an aegis which was not for us, & which
included our enemies, dirt & grime came
down, settled on our backs. Now, I blame
a sense of excess which was just the Aughts;
I got used to knowing a step up on a Philly
ladder could be a step down. They were
snorting coke in a room upstairs at this
party, and, it was rumored, playing Russian
Roulette. The pistol (I saw) had a silencer on it.
I looked up, from the landing, at a greasy light.
September heat cast an eerie glow of nowhere-
someone pushed past me to join the affair.
In La Tazza, a coffee shop in Manayunk,
a stairway led you stiffly into a high-ceiling'd,
Spartan, red-painted basement, where I
wound up with Chris one autumn night
in '97. How Jeremy's group picked us up
I don't know, but we all wound up in an
apartment on Main Street. Everyone was
wearing army jackets; Jeremy was uncharacteristically
quiet. He had already lost control of his
cabal, & blew in the wind. The poems lay,
then, wrapped in a dossier-like presentation,
at Villanova, among other secret files; as they
lay, also, in Jeremy's brain, as tokens that
he once cared to be a real army trooper.