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Donald Guy Nov 2012
wandering the Commons, quietly listening
   to the sounds of Childish Gambino

Looking for the sixteenth time for
   An escape from the Pru
Sipping a glass of Sam Adams Boston Brick Red
at a corner of WHISKEY'S on Boylston

Stopped in at Ben & Jerry's on Park:
   Bought a cone of  ™
Paid for it with
my Bank of America® VISA® P L A T I N U M   P L U S ®

Checked in on  foursquare and
   read the protest tweets on
my verizonwireless® hTC® ThunderBolt™
with Google:
                #NYPD collapses on #Sanctuary and begins arresting clergy and occupiers
                inside. #D17 #Re-Occupy #OWS
                _Retweeted by Occupy Boston
           @OccupyWallSt Links to sanctuary/clergy violations?

Erst I wandered the sights
and thought of thoughts

Tweeted a picture of the “pro-corporate” march
Pictured Headlines:

Area Cop Arrests Area Man for Obeying Traffic Signal
"Didn't anybody tell him that's not how its done round here?"

Cell of Young Idealists with ties to
Low-Level Terrorist Organization Busted & Detained:
Found Plotting the Grassroots, Digitized, Non-Violent Overthrow of the Status Quo

City upon a Hill: “Whose city?! Whose hill?!”

~D.B. Guy, 12/17/11
A poem which "properly" involves a bizarre amount of formatting. See
Donald Guy Nov 2012

6:48 a Wednesday
Two Weeks later
Then: Thanksgiving eve

I sit at my desk:
stare out of the windows <
My skull
at the Chocolate Bock I just
Overflowed > all over my notes
on the Circe episode of Ulysses,
which I have not yet read.

20 minutes after I just ––
Went alone. Stood there, yes, alone
Above the porcelain enterprise
Taking that litmus test of humanity
Clear, I pass. Yellow, I fail.
It was rather clear I think
Honestly? I don't remember.

Two weeks ago, I stood there==
and came up with this phrase.
Standing there with special eyes::::
Came back to my room, I did, faithfully
Looked there below my second fridge
A plate sat. mine. On it: maybe food, maybe *****
Probably marijuana
Only the first my own
Who remembers?

Next to it: an empty prescription bottle
"It's some medicine for Asthma. I don't even
have asthma!"
"Classy **** I am; I've never bought a shot glass.
Just use discarded prescription bottles."

An experiment @ the sink: exact: 2.0z. On the dot.
Turns out that's 1&1/3 of the standard—The ritual
We make it. And have made it.
For years now together after midnight
[or so]
4 years. Soon it will be
Maybe I shall leave; probably not

but harken back, that fortnight, less 6
To that evening. Orange and purple
Effort sublime but not enough:
Lost to a team of Freshman.?!

~If only:~
"Tripped mad-laundry shrooms",
6 and a half months ago

Two men sit in the corner of my room
I know one; the other spoke

2-weeks-later: sticky keyboard
I am not sober, but who is?

Last night. Remember those videos?
reminded me that *** can be beautiful:
After basically 2 years: I almost forgot. December 6, 2011

I have a perspective now:
It is not the same as yours
it is not and, by necessity,
can not be the same.

But I see it. Stephen Daedalus
calls it immature—lyrical
but *******, James: it is mine!

I am. Will always be.
Will have never been.
But, God/Goddess **** it now!
I am: I See.
I try!

Proper reading involves out-loud pronunciation of some of the punctuation

12/7/11. the day I was drunk 14 hours.

Ostensibly written for William Corbett's 21W.756 Writing and Reading Poems.
ostensible nod to James Schuyler.
Donald Guy Nov 2012
It is daylight, err it
is raining
actually still you

should go now or you
will be late, she sd, to
the reflection of

a memory that danced in
& out & back again as
she looked across the window-
less room

D.B. Guy
mid-November 2011. 21W.756 Writing and Reading Poems. Robert Creeley "I Know A Man"
Donald Guy Nov 2012
You won't even empty a trash can?
I did. It is not even my turn
But the trash can is full again now
I don't see how this is my concern

When it overs it will be, as
trash piles up all around us
If you care so much do it yourself
I can't, this is a freshman job
                              ~D.B. Guy
William Corbett's 21W.756 Writing and Reading Poems. Lorine Niedecker.
Donald Guy Nov 2012
I stagger out of the Paradise Rock Club. 11:04pm.
42 degrees. Short sleeves, no jacket; I give zero *****.
I have experienced something beyond words, but I'll try
In 50 minutes it will be All Hallow's Eve, a Monday
Due and not yet begun I have an essay on James Joyce and
A reckoning on the occult, inner mysteries of the CPU.
Again, I give zero *****
The last hour and a half were the best possible use of my time.

Not 5 miles away, people I sympathize with
are protesting the failure of America,
But tonight I have seen her undeniable beauty:

904, as the fire code rates, packed in to the inch
A choir united, the director:
A man who tonight skipped his Aunt Steph's funeral at her request
To be here

To direct us in each anthem.
In hopeful, truthful noise
Our hoarse and untrained voices combine
And as Mr. Key observes, against all odds, against all reason
Make the most beautiful sound.

                            D.B. Guy
                            Slightly drunk, tears in my eyes
                            On the Green Line
End of October 2011. Bill Corbett's 21W.756 Writing and Reading Poems. Frank O' Hara.
Donald Guy Nov 2012
Drinking a Guinness Extra, an empty gesture,
Beset truly by the words of Joyce,
I am sick of the turning from text
To annotation. I wish only to read
A text as it was meant,
With the knowledge not aside
But present already in my blasted skull

It's like the modern appreciation of Shakespeare
—At best an approximation. The words that were
Common, fallen out of usage.
The words then invented, now commonplace.

Thither and hither again I will look
Tracking the details
Researching the clever allusion
Trying not to miss & missing anon
what's right in front of me

                            D.B. Guy
November 2011. William Corbett's 21W.756 Writing and Reading Poems. Frank O'Hara.
Donald Guy Nov 2012
11:33pm @Boston_Police:
#occupyboston The BPD respects
your right to protest peacefully.
We ask for your ongoing cooperation.

@Occupy_Boston: 11:51
The BPD asks reporters to leave
the inside of the camp
they don't want them to record
and report on what they're about to do.

Cops give Occupy Boston
five minutes to vacate.
Nobody is leaving.

1:41 @OccupyBOS_Media:
The police are beating the Veterans for Peace

1:44 @Occupy_Boston:
Cops arresting everyone.
We are being beaten.

I walk there as my legs will cary me...

The Aftermath:
All quiet on the western curb
Over 100 arrested and spread amongst
more than five separate jails—none close by.
Camp two is gone and camp one intact. for now;
The ecstatic crowd, arms linked, chants
"Who do you protect? Who do you serve?""

Hyperbole all around.
Injustice or public safety?
...It hardly even matters.

The people are on the streets again
The military is overseas but
this time, the war is at home:

Men and women in blue,
likely just doing their jobs,
fighting people without them.
I fear the 99% fights itself

Rumors flit about. Crackdowns abound
Dallas, Atlanta, St.Louis, Seattle, &
San Francisco: from sea to writhing sea
The chickens have come home to roost and
The pigs are bringing home the bacon

The professionals were cleared out,
but the media wasn't. The talk is on
line by line, it is lively, ever-streaming:
blogs and tweets; statuses, state by state.

Rumors created. Rumors dispelled
Proof offered. Faith destroyed.
Anger engendered. Assumptions reinforced:
The people are connected
but the disconnect remains

Between rich and poor, yes, but maybe worse than that:
this movement is only as United as these states
The basic principles the same, the practice not so much
Peaceful, yet violent; Pro-capitalist, anti-corporate
"a laughable gang of disorganized, confused Nazis.  
an ill-disciplined, highly-trained, ****-smoking,
fascist organization."

First the Tea Party and now this,
Demonstrating the strength & flaws of Democracy
even as they protest the flaws of Republic
Still, they are not so different

They sit in parks by day and sleep at night
in dorms, apartments, houses, tents. Uncomfortable
Wrapped too tightly in sheets of red, white, and green.
Trying, desperately, to wake up from the American Dream

                                        ~D.B. Guy
_Poems in Autumn_. #7 of 7 .
Nods to John Wieners' The Hotel Wently Poems & William Corbett's MIT course 21W.756 Writing and Reading Poems
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