Tom Hibbard


We have not wrecked this place,
    they said,
you have.
               —Clark Coolidge

the deadline draws nigh belying bellies
that search monopolies
of unrelated subliminal information
crudding out stupid blankness
the bumper-to-bumper animal kingdom
paddling uncharted currents
of universal materia prima
scraping off tense too-close billows
dismissing earthquakes like clockwork
perhaps they might forget about mice
because you were first to deliver inexactitude
is it any less worthy to proclaim:
with values still based largely on "visuality"
marriage is the same thing as divorce
the pyramid can't be disturbed
which shields inaccessible power
commuting to nodal exits
truth surfaces only as the leaven of origin
braced as we sometimes need to be
misinformed mesmerized misdirected
every act should be its own revolution
of galactic usurped proportions
hoping maybe time will run out
the obscene wands and wails
where subdued welcomes
return limitlessness to its heaven

“...until finally we never met”
              —Thom. Devaney

without any particular reason
no need to disinter ex-jackson
tomorrow is only the push of a button away
constitutional governments are a dime a dozen
methodically saying good-bye
denying the nicaraguan fields their rights
the spilled decades of days
dropping snare-bombs one by one
on an uncomprehending world
the last little bit won't allow anyone in
you have no choice
but to fall on your knees
despite appearances to the contrary
provoked into a second stone-age
as old as sixty-five billion years
it's difficult to put into words
the stereotypes you don't like
a part of your body becomes a machine
earth-credit belongs only to those
that remain loyal to the "human problematique"

Tom Hibbard has two reviews posted at the current issue of Big Bridge and a review of Philip Whalen's collected poems at Word For /Word. His 2008 book of poetry, Place of Uncertainty, is available at the Otoliths Storefront.

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