[Newspoetry] Rush the Vote?

[DL Emerick]

Rush the Vote?
Rush the Count?
Hush, the People speak!

Hush the People-speak.
Push away delay,
Time suspends itself,
>From unsure ropes of certainty,
Gapes in gaps,
Open insecurity,
Between acts and effects.

I used to thrill to long nights,
When election returns slowly tallied,
I'd savor every return for its meat,
Suck nectar of each budding moment.

I loved the slowness of the news,
For news needs time to happen,
To mark passages in old pasts.

(Re-read TH White in Chapter One:
The Making of the President, 1960.)

I hate technical efficiency,
Effectively unsacramental.
It illumines no numinous moments.
If God wanted it over and done with,
He would never have made it, anyway.

How can I tell you this?
Have you watched a bud opening?
Art itself is an unfolding --
It is not a packaged product,
Before or after its opening --
A Gift is uncertain moment, opening.

I had a date, once upon a time.
We came back home, to her place.
We kissed and pawed one another.
That was fun, that was pleasing --
That was illusive and illusion,
Excitement itself building,
Not ending nor knowing its end --
Passion rising and not dying.

Oh, she ended much too soon;
Suddenly pausing, shrugging,
Pulling off her clothes,
Stripping down for action,
For its ending, I am sure,
In some sort of climax,
Uniting into one and none,
A release from uncertainty,
Pleasing pressure of anxiety,
Pressing pleasure pressing on,
For an escape from the moment,
The longer delayed the better.

(I felt like a cheap whore, then:
Just get it in and get it out,
Get it over with and be done.
I am saddened and demeaned,
Mind-fucked, body-satisfied.)

Oh, there was consummation --
Nothing much to remember,
As body can't recall extreme pain,
Nor pleasure, itself, exquisite.

Performing is forming first
Without ever becomes a form,
Remaining ghostly and unsure --
Experiencing itself is alive --
All Living takes IS as NOW,
Except for the calculators,
Pushing on data entry keys,
Computing to rape our Time.


Oh, if I were a Greek, in diet,
I'd stick my finger down my throat,
And vomit what I've eaten,
Only for tasting its taste,
And not its fattening calories.

I'd unfuck myself, from speed,
>From moments so quickly defined:
Get back to slowly defining,
Stop voting for a quick fuck,
And watch flowering in being.

http://www.truthout.org/docs_2006/030107P.shtml