WEBVTT

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WEBVTT

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I'm just going to
do a couple more.

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Thank you.

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[APPLAUSE]

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It was important
in this book that I

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was going to-- if I
was going to get down

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some story about
the land and where

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I come from that I was attentive
to the entire system of it

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rather than just the
postcard iconography of it.

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And my middle school
was a treacherous place,

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and I'm sure it still is.

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But in this poem, I smuggled
this infamous graffito

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from those hallways.

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And it's a poem better than
anything I could write.

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So I'll try to, like, pronounce
it and make it come out.

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This is called Night Camouflage.

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I look like what I am:
storefront rememberer.

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A mildewed stack of dead
arcana with no currency

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to lie and claim you read.

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The station every
aged out abductee

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claims to have risen to
then cut and run from.

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Feeling for old drums of
future war in structures,

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powerless, riddled by the
Zippo lighted scrawls:

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hit a crip in the lip.

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What drip, what crawls,
throw towels on it,

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skewer it with push knives
while Edith Street sleeps.

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Mix concrete adrenalized by
the sheer sustained torment

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of your cleaved off undeveloped
twin's unsmotherable dust,

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pneumonia wincing.

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Lock your door.

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List your house.

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I'm just putting shit at
this point in the calendar.

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The city gazes back now.

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[APPLAUSE]

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