13 May 2016

Poem-A-Day #74 : Accountability

Accountability

I want to hold lines on paper accountable for the things they seem to be saying

Become an accountant

I have a small pencil sharpened and ready

Let's pretend that these lines can speak that they have something to say what is it that is spoken

That word account comes from old French though exploring those roots reveals nothing the word was conter and then aconter and it means to count and it recedes quickly because what is the use

I want to say that I hold myself to account that I can explain away myself in spreadsheets and lines that become flies snapping at the heels

I pick up the blue pencil my illustrator friend left behind after his visit and I draw across the walls until the space is the color of a Smurf's flesh then I take pics for my Instagram and none of it shows up

There is the sound of a fire alarm somewhere in the building

I continue watching Parts Unknown and realize that I shall burn

That the blue pencil doctrine exists bad parts of law shall be thrown away and the good kept

Let's pretend for a second that I am not lazy that I manage motivation that I 'get things done' am one of those people who others say good things about

Let's pretend that I'm not naked while I write this and eating pizza and soda and cookies

There should be a law probably is

I think about the laws against those who cannot pay their bills about the laws against homosexuality and the forced castrations and then the forces sterilizations of the poor not white women

And I don't know what part of me to tick

Which box do I fill in when it comes time to either literally or proverbially take my life into accounts and face the great white lights of The End

I do not even believe in a god to be the keeper of that great bound book of things I did not do well so -

I think about counting myself and trying to take stock of my goods

And then I remember to hold language accountable as well call it out on its shit tell it to go fuck itself

Here language is a small token a parsing of my body it is dough and pale and full of nonsense that rarely escapes itself let alone heals anyone and yet...      and yet...