WEBVTT

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This poem is called "The
World," and I feel like--

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I generally try not to
read tons of the news,

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and then write poems.

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But this poem, I had been
reading lots of the news,

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and I felt like I couldn't keep
it out of my poems any longer.

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So this is kind of
an explosion of news.

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It's called "The World."

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"The world is reaching into you,
deeper and faster and cheaper

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than ever before.

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So what do you hope for?

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An afternoon spent
alone with porn?

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Do we live in a world
of bodies or not?

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If the falling trees don't kill
the chimps, the lack of habitat

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will.

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They squawk as they swing from
branch to branch, o-o-o-awak!

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With those miraculous
hands, the butterflies

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killed off by the
new-wave pollen.

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You can't hug a Nazi,
and hope he'll change.

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What's more, such an idea is an
affront to national security.

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A child stands O-mouthed
in a doorway learning evil,

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a bomb makes more shrapnel
if it explodes on cement.

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So never let your guard
down, not for one minute.

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Everything is muted and
blue, the tip-tap of creation

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seems cloudy, not crisp.

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And words know nothing more than
I do, or they're not telling.

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I grew one seed, I cultivated
one thing, a Christ-baby,

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who is what he eats.

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A small hot thing is an
animal that smells good.

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But the good must be sealed
off from the bad and the bad

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from the good.

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Otherwise, a ghoulish
black vein might creep up

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to the otherwise
healthy pink brain.

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But the earth is molten,
and it is made of moods.

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So go ahead, blow it up.

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Blow it up, your mouth
full of love, and anger,

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and white-gold milk.

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A crack of infinity will pulse
on in one glistening ovary.

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So believe me, it's the voice
of a miserable motherfucker that

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whispers to you, 'You
cannot realize your world.'"

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