Mark DeCarteret & Wayne Atherton


[Standing on Water, Running on Water]
the role of the die is not to re-live one’s old idiocies



a dozen pages in 
                               & I’m nodding off again
                               no end to the zones 
                               being sponsored by heroes

                               superimposed over zeros
                               one non-sensed thing
                               after none other   

                               than a corporate
                               degenerated 
                               arti-fun-fact 
                                  
forgive me        I haven’t felt my elf-self          since having been left off 
the screen for effect                                 & given my very own special
                                     own V.I.P. package:
               cape & spandex                       sex w/an action figure      extra
                                 exec’s scandalous texts          not

 & now please take off your caps           put together your hands
    so that our air force flyover           won’t end up in the stands

                                 in the land of the freeze pop
                                 & the home of the braised patty	
                                 
where we’re woke again                            by more cowboys                   
      on-demanding we’re patriots              trapped in the body of con-artists
   meaning even more profits   more sons of riches      & more noise

there’s no stop           to the options        so put on an act now

half the time I’m circling               targets
half the time I’m line dancing                        w/squares     
& the rest of the time I’m              trying out          another angle            
to do even more                       right by my chair

self-worshipping      is not included    at the genetically altered
mishandling is       hamburger help us         else this despot is mistaken




                                  off-camera I’m unremarkable
                                  off-camera I’m no fun                                            
                                  off-camera I’m sucking a lozenge
                                  down to what’ll           do for a sun 

though I can’t say I            like          the lack of tone in your note
the way you’ve autotuned           one into not        not literally done to death
a little ditty    we like to call      for nary a vocabulary   
 into the pod we go                      kiddies         in-directly de-posited
so won’t you all    like                    draw another        like               breath 
recovering the same band        the same like        radio dialing it in
   & remaking the same     killing     the same  like   meme-d smile

I mean who doesn’t love           corporate head  
or another camera                          this good in bed?

hadn’t I said it was sad        so intolerably   sad
I mean even the eternally damned       never had it this bad

no the center will not         know what to do     w/itself
when we hold it            real close         & try talking it down
from one of its virtual attacks            ironically                     not having a clue
other than what can be        rescued on a sticker       trivialized
but no worries               or certainly sorries            dude

                               
I too wrote        the same lame-assed 
e-males              on another e-mission 

(for an un-seeable              fee…)         
e-going thru                      the e-motions 

back in the day when          we called it      a diary
locked it away       where the world didn’t 

have any say         as for what goes inter-our-faces
out w/it               out w/it            out w/it

before       the cock-tales        the first course of action
& after the dinner                    entitle-mints 
the least amounts       to most of our mouths
       a thousand pasts     strapped on for the future
           & now presently       unaccounted for         
         
         
when winter’s stammering twin       
            won’t own up to snow’s one-sided history  

up till our parents sprung for       our spring semester
& we would be the first             in our family          to serve
up these over-dosed odes                                 & this feverish verse            
                I now wish not so          self-lite & self-righteous 

                
or summed up by             those strummed lutes of summer
worse                 the death campiest metal     
                 another tool       thinking     they’re ruling the universe      
 from their mom & dad’s                                      cellar

   the latest in the last                    of the fall’s fashion
a little kick to the prick                     I picked up off season 
                 
where I saw that my Christ            was still striking    that pose
going hungry     for love        & going thirstier        for   all the above
believing He Himself         might just not have saved
quite His blessed                       for the last
	
that thief far to His right          only giving Him grief & fright
eating what the shrike           couldn’t tear off the stake
    & drinking what the vampire      bat wouldn’t tolerate   in its shake    

& that thief far to His left        only taking themselves       too seriously 
tricking the lemmings     into seeing only the one shadow
    & treating the lab          rat to yet another cul-de-sac   

I lost my balance         in the front of a crowd
only to find it                       in the back of a cab

say amen               has its way w/you        our worst enemy
or imagine being moved                 like a game     piece         be w/you                         
                                                                        w/in a memory’s width of the margin

why then are we   raised as the dead  by our fathers
when we are already     reborn       in light    of our mothers

& odds are not even                    the least of our brothers
will steal from one so that          a hundred others might live                    
            o sister forgive me the misfortunes   there for the mistaking

                          such is the beast    we’ve kept tabs on
            the small-scale lake of fire     we’ve basted our bodies 
                      the angels mind you      we sang of our loss
                             & then stabbed    to our cushiest of soles

                          stars cool to our look
                             stars warm to our touch
                              one sequel I’d yodeled
                              is one sequel too much

sorry I’ve never seemed          less alone
I’m informed by the mess     remade of me      by my clone                                                     
                                      
                                              on-camera we’re ghosts
                                              on-camera we’re shot
                                              on-camera we play host
                                              to all we’re famously not

we’ve smart phoned it in               stupid world
& word has it        the spirit that once moved us             

vroom vroom                         has moved on



prayer, interrupted



i.

I went another year w/
out appearing to sin

worshipping at each
pore in god’s forehead

& this pin-up of an an-
gel showing more leg

ii.

I reaped what I eyed
so as not to deepen

the astronaut’s stare
as outdated & doubtful

as the stars he had put
down then restarted

iii.

I ate the entire earth
& then threatened to eat

the rest of the universe
even the fine print of eternity

till my attentions were won
by my twin & his winnings

Wayne Atherton attended Massachusetts College of Art 1969-1972 and served as senior editor of The Café Review from 1992 to 2019 where he promoted the work of local, national, and internationally renowned poets & artists. He began making mixed media collages and assemblages circa 1990 and has built a substantial body of work in those particular mediums ever since. His work has appeared in several gallery exhibitions, online, in print, and in poetry book collaborations. A broad sampling of his life’s work may be viewed at www.legbaland.com.

 
 

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