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[audio:https://killauthor.com/audio/issuesixteen/r_d_parker.mp3|titles=Obviousnesses|artists=RD Parker]

It is indeed a peculiarity of ideology that it imposes (without appearing to do so, since these are ‘obviousnesses’) obviousnesses as obviousnesses.
                    —Althusser

 
I am so comfortable here. Yes.

Scalp, knee, / shoulder,
                              elbow, eye, nose,
          tongue, finger,
                                        breast, toe, / hand,
knuckle.

                    Names
                                        of body parts.
          We have turned                                   them
                    into
                                                            verbs.

They could not
                              have

                                                  begun
          as
                    verbs.
In the hypothesis
                              of the corporeal

          the ontological
                                        trumps
                    the kinetic. Yes.
     I am so comfortable.
Here. Now. Failure,               mortality,
                                        memory, loss,

          self-satire,
                              mutability.
Body
                    craves            photograph.

 
After Josephus splotched saffron
               across the interdunal swales,
the hydrothermal goons fructified,
                         smothering the send-up
     at last, o so rococo, shorn / of the slipshod slothful.
          Shrewdly, Josephus nosed down. He
                                        jostled.
Chomp chomp chomp. The chump trilled
          aggregate rhyme, corroborating the collaborative
compromises percussive / of all, all the sated post-apocalyptic
     apocryphals,
     sticky but filched and o so swank.

 
Monoliths in a cloud of dust.

 
In the darkness she told us that we must learn to
     weather scarcity.

 
Ruby red rose hips bequeathed
          delusion upon jouissance.
Mawkish, labile, the lapidary
     leopard paws the defoliated / shades
of Josephus’s craven paparazzi.
          Grill them, says Josephus.
     Pop their suffocating platitudes
                    and sullen ressentiment like the curdled pus
of a ripe pimple. O levity procrastinated!
          So rancorous. So petulant. To
Josephus’s jaded lassitude, they’re all poseurs.

 
Truth: the facile
          tyranny
                    of facility
must interpellate
                    the poem
          into
                              t   h   e
d-d-demagoguery
                              of
          lingu*istic faux
                              tran*sparency!
as surely as Mussolini’s nose
          directs his toes across the polished dance floor.

 
In these guises of the fallow plains
when we eye
each other                              not least
we do not see                                   when we say
what / we do not see          that we only see
or / that we only / see                      our own disguises.
our own disguises.

 
My maid is so dull-witted that she / brings me plum blossoms
     for my hair.

 
Mussolini is dead!

 
Josephus shoulders his way
                    through the crowds.
          Dark clouds boil
in the western skies.
                    When he lies
          down to sleep,
this is the part
                    of the day
          he will remember (remember, remember).