“James A. Garfield and All the Shot People,” a poem by David Berman

“James A. Garfield and All the Shot People”

by

David Berman


Insects are a manifestation of negative will.
—Anon.

I thought I saw an angel below the engine
but it was just vibrating air.

People used to see things
in the woods and the air and the closet:
spirits, dragons, and headless things,
lost and angry floats
conspiring to make every stomach pulse
like an almost accident
and every body’s head come unwound.

Our vision is not so fuzzy now.
We stare into eyes and see their parts,
have cameras, sidewalks, pills,
and other futuristic devices.
Some of our race have counted up into the highest numbers,
the high clear numbers.

Now we know the speed of light,
and that we never see anything just when it happens,
but a part of a second afterwards.
People are getting lost in their own houses,
wandering down hallways and through rooms for years.
We stumble downstairs full of water,
and when I wake up it all pours out of me.


From Caliban #8, 1990.

The issue also contains a few illustrations by Berman, including this one:

Your thoughts?

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.