by Alejandro Escudé
Once I thought it was Nietzsche’s
Übermensch crawling up the Minority
Leader’s arm, a furry man, but no
Sasquatch, a green hue around it.
But then I came to realize it was
Aristotle, his arched beetle back
On the President’s shoulders,
having lapped up the milk of logic.
A stone cave for a poet to live in
and call out of, the trees out there
appearing as just so many lies.
One enters a labyrinth of razors
in the city, having been cooped up
in the house for many months.
Ever noticed that driving fast
is a form of geekiness? I sink
into a neutral speed, observing,
as Whitman did, the dead grass
of the center median. Airliners
crisscross the sky at different
depths of air. Nothing collides.
People only collide with them-
selves these days. Conflict, if
it takes place at all, takes place
in whispers over false transoms.
At night, looking up at the stars,
one sees no nature, only an urban
concentration of skyscrapers
formed of galaxies, planet rings
on-ramps and off-ramps, screams
suppressed by cynical tweets,
statues masking WiFi towers.
I’ve been wrong before, but not
about this. Truth is dead because
truth is romantic. I bring you
to the end of this long car chase
and I bail out, a chopper over me,
its lights illuminating the way
in or out of the television screen.
Alejandro Escudé published his first full-length collection of poems My Earthbound Eye in September 2013. He holds a master’s degree in creative writing from UC Davis and teaches high school English. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.
