Sorry I Don't Feel Like Talking About Golf Today | Arts + Literature Laboratory | Madison Contemporary Arts Center

Sorry I Don't Feel Like Talking About Golf Today

We announce the world first existed in the form of a human body without mouth or eyes / without limbs or lungs / without glands or genitalia / without necessity of food / without motion / without empathy / without virus or vaccine / poison or antidote / so we became the first virus / & we became our own vaccine // We became open mouths & closed eyes // We became legions of cold compassion thrumming in a spacious forever / / flailing architects constructing intricately engineered endings // Over & over // For everyone / everything // More monstrous / more energetic / more insensate / more infernal // Bodies like sword-wielding skeletons slashed apart then reforming again & again until a fire-greased weapon unfurls them for good / bodies like drainage canals / bodies like drain cleaner / bodies like ant poison / bodies like battleground states / bodies like badlands / bodies like butterfly knives / bodies like broken touchscreens / bodies like breathtaking vistas of bodily hell / bodies like empty penthouses / bodies like empty infinity pools / bodies like empty stomachs / bodies like empty eye sockets / bodies like empty food courts / bodies like empty milk cartons / bodies like empty playgrounds / bodies like empty classrooms // Where you expect to find ocean you only find whalefall / recycling / crumbling forests of bleached coral // Where you expect to find clarity & awe you find cosmetic & pharmaceutical pollutants // You can’t stop listening for sounds that will never be made again / because the listening comforts you / but the listening hurts & the comfort hurts / grinding your teeth to the rhythm of the dead refrigerator’s hum // Our sweat is cold & culpable // We toss & turn & braid with the sheets / put our ears to each other’s chests expecting to hear heartbeats / instead finding dial tones / yearning for blues & greens you’ve never found in the flesh // So many bright rooms with no people inside // So many tangles of rain molding our homes from the inside // So easy to hide the profane from the sacred / to pretend the sirens surrounding us are nothing more than silence // Your cadaver lies supine in a tranquil field of lavender //

This poem originally appeared in Strange Horizons

About the Author

poet Adam Fell, male with curly light hair

Adam Fell is the author of Catastrophizer, winner of the Sixth Finch 2022 Chapbook Contest, and two books of poetry: Dear Corporation, (Forklift Books 2019) and I Am Not A Pioneer (2011), winner of the 2011 Posner Poetry Book Award from the Council for Wisconsin Writers. He is a graduate of the Iowa Writers Workshop and UW-Madison, and is an Associate Professor of English at Edgewood College in Madison, WI, where he curates the Monsters of Poetry reading series.


December 2022

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