by Marc Meierkort
Dr. Seuss proves practice makes perfect.
A taste for the earliest of persecutions.
There’s a subject in there somewhere.
Somewhere a baby cries. Damned if
babies cry. Foul originates the telling
of lies. Augustine that steely raconteur
& scoundrel of the self-image. A heated
transfer. Personal hatred now humanity’s
flaw. From Adam’s first major shit-storm
of stupidity & bad manners mistakes made
graven. We’ve been slurred from birth.
Unchosen. Unformed. Incomplete drawings
left to the right side of the shelf marked
incomplete drawings. It’s a shame really.
This society we call sin. This run on belief
says we’ve fallen still but ready to rise.
Beside the point of being fully in love
with the length of the line there’s room
for a subject in there says I am not that
sin. I am not that profanely original.
Marc Meierkort of Glendale Heights, IL is currently an MFA candidate in Poetry at Columbia College Chicago, where he is also an assistant editor for Allium, A Journal of Poetry & Prose. A poet and educator, he taught high school English for 19 years. A past Pushcart Prize nominee, his work has appeared in Neologism Poetry Journal, Crack the Spine Literary Magazine, The Main Street Rag, In Parentheses, and The Bookends Review.