(un)importance of ipseity(ies)

By Aimée Keeble

A rule of land- the borderlines that garrote and sizzle with an urgency of New World venom
And constitutional ghouls, scraps of pioneering war cries haunting the trees
but it’s alright because everything is so bright

A rodeo king can earn $10,000 a year
Carrying the red sun soft and shaky as a turkey’s wattle
Dip of the American dream in the ankle bones of his pony

We are because we are free

Do not tell me I am not a part of this

I like:
American cheese and meat engorged with government-regulated fulminations
Sky allowed to spill over its edges and the toxicity of meridional storms
The savagery of fresh fought over country delineations makes me drool; I am an easy lover and
want

America- Star-spangled sugar-white benzoid goddess half laughing at the war between her groin
Picking up little men between her talons- what tiny guns!

I am also:
A creature whose skin does not balk at used rain- pulling at the crags of the Eastern shore of Old Anglia,
coccolith spread between my fingers,
heaving and dribbling old spells from my mouth:

Corncockle, columbine, wood anemone,
council kingdoms and the high yielding copses of the M6
All hail the metallic litter of the underpass,
heath murder and the cloying song of lavender
Sermon of the War Dog for a new age pulling itself away Happily rotting alone under the floorboards white-eyed in the dark

I am a knight of the somewhere-else

And in these upsidedown times, there is my mirror copy- carrying the Dakota sun in his arms,
dripping Western light,
hollering a song for the angels that watch:

apathetic,
magnificently sloe-eyed

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