LUCAS RESTIVO
Dog gone it
Imbuing meaning into images,
optical illusions, is it wrong
to feel so connected to dogs?
Mine keeps rocks
in her mouth,
now the beach is complicated.
I think she thinks it’s her egg
even though dogs don’t do that
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Same sickness
The nostalgia industrial complex–
what’s it mean when a brewery
mutes Spongebob? What happens
to my taxes? Coffee then beer
then coffee, then dead. American Zen.
Do the parents seem stunted?
Do the kids cause it
or the opposite? I have nothing
to defend but my position, is that tragic?
Everything I own someone died in.
Everything I am someone else is.
Spiritual necrosis, designer trips,
post-adolescent, is this pleasured
theft or convenience? Am I the problem
or is the problem is? College didn’t
teach me to leave no stone unfinessed.
The world did. And it’s the best
I’ve felt in weeks
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Rubber Dummy
All communication is involuntary.
What’s said
and the response it necessitates within you
are like blinking or the wind.
Language turns your body into a paper silhouette.
It can feel like training. For what?
Who knows. With time
all repetition feels like acupuncture
or the pot waiting to boil,
and what does anyone mean by singularity?
True poetry asks what you're drinking
and if you come here often.
It asks what you love
and what you’re willing to sacrifice.
If you want to dance
and swings you across the floor, out the door
and right as you think you're heading home,
into the same crosshairs
(if it's any good)
you now see everywhere
––––
Spirit Materializes As A Calming
or
Memory Is Fiction And Unconscious Desire
A boy has a memory, so old it could be a dream. He’s on a field trip to an archaeology site
in a town who would later be sued for radioactive dumping. He sees himself brushing
a ground full of mutations and shrieking, I found something
––––
Against The Wheel
On a highway overpass, a family lines up for a picture of the last great American forest.
To capture the sensation of living through an authentic disaster.
My purpose is theirs, this camera. Because you never know what you won’t remember.
And a smile requires more than saying smile.
How about:
The world is carved on the other side of hope like a bar of soap.
Or do I tell them what I tell myself, over and over
until the words flood a bystander.
It’s grace to run your fingers along the banks
and know how the end begins.
Cheese
––––
Lucas Restivo is a writer from Massachusetts with an exciting offer for any agents, publishers, and/or foundations.
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