Hymn to an Art-o-matic Laundromat
by Michael R. Burch

after Richard Thomas Moore’s “Hymn to an Automatic Washer”

O, terrible-immaculate
ALL-cleansing godly Laundromat,
where cleanliness is next to Art
—a bright Kinkade (bought at K-Mart),
a Persian rug (made in Taiwan),
a Royal Bonn Clock (time zone Guam)—
embrace my *** in cushioned vinyl,
erase all marks: ****, vaginal,
******, inkspot, red wine, dirt.
O, sterilize her skirt, my shirt,
my skidmarked briefs, her padded bra;
suds-away in your white maw
all filth, the day’s accumulation.
Make us pure by INUNDATION.

Published by The Oldie, where it was the winner of a poetry contest. This poem was inspired by the incongruence of discovering "works of art" while doing laundry at a laundromat with coin-operated washers and dryers. I was reminded of the experience while reading Richard Moore’s “Hymn to an Automatic Washer.” Keywords/Tags: hymn, art, America, Americana, laundry, laundromat, washer, dryer, appliances, clean, cleaning, cleanliness, clothes, clothing, underwear, god, godly, godliness, water, baptism, inundation, sonnet, analogy, humor

The clock demands a tower, for it to look outwards
night has an absence, the key factor
bringing relevance to a lighthouse,
the nightingale infuses sweetness to night hours
for those listeners who never fancy hearing her on a day
a tall wall, a ladder and an iron cutter, perfectly
shapes a thief; there is a mysterious disorder
pointing the other way to every careful order.

The cactus flower and delicate butterfly on it,
brings to focus a certain delectable incongruence,
eternity has an eye resting on evanescence,
a scientist with a reverse cerebral process
alone can snake in to the origin of such nuances,
where hides the complex aesthetics of the 'other'
of what we are familiar, more fascinating than this
the universe that's the tip of an iceberg, hides from us
though, it exists here with all of the 'multiverse'
But who would institute a Nobel prize for 'otherness'
to shed light to the dark path, that would gift more astonishment to us

I didn’t mind the incongruence of our hearts
as we melted together like sticky-sweet ice cream
on a nostalgic summer day, and I wore your
fingerprints on my collarbone like a proud
working man’s necktie as our molecules collided
between our bodies in a miniature mosaic we
couldn’t see – but we could feel

Our bloodstreams were helium and our
organs were neatly-knotted balloon animals
and trumpets pounded behind our eardrums
as we tried to stay afloat in our makeshift raft
in the turbulence of Maybes and What Ifs
but you choked on reality as I tried to
breathe you a sonnet

And the piano burdened our lungs as
I tried to free the confusion from your eyes
but they hid in your lashes and fluttered
against the tip of my nose and invited a
cathartic sneeze, and I felt like a jagged
paper cut-out but you were smooth lines
and symmetry

I don’t know when the yelling started or
when it ceased but the red stains on my face
were the only recollection I needed and
I packed my things in an origami suitcase
and treaded down the spiral stairs and exited
from the top story on wilted-flower wings

The human being is an inherently contentious creature.

Seven billion rock-wall eyes;
Eyes staring belligerently down seven billion sharp noses;
Noses affixed to seven billion faces;
Faces covered in creases and scars,
Framed in unruly hair
And outlined in stark exactness
By the flames cowering in bipedal shadows.

Into the human heart is chiseled "inexorable".
We are an incongruence:
We row up the rapids,
Scale the waterfall
And taunt the oily heavens from atop Devil's Tower.

We will always get what we want,
Whether it involves killing the albatross
Or playing Gondorff's chess.
Whether we wrest it from Gaia's grasp
Or that of our more miserly peers.

Robert C. crystalised our resolve.

The riot gear-clad Blue and Green with timers in their throats
Stand abreast.
Chanting "Listen to Mother. Mother knows best.",
They begin the forward press.

When an impish grenade leaps our way,
We fling it back between mouthfuls of chips.

The barricades erected
By Mother and ourselves alike
Are many and implacable and incessant,
But they will be broken and overtaken.

They will be broken and overtaken by us,
The humans,
Because we are.

Stolen the shawl from the shoulders of night
Slipping away with the dawn
Folding down the duvet, the new day
Stretching glossy nailed sentinels to
Rub the sleep from lashes of tell tale
Dreams that took mundanity into
Fine wine and rich red realms

Fresh out of tactics to ring in favours
The sheets depart my limbs and
Water connects skin on skin
Fluffy spurs washed away clean
Spun out of secret doors into the unknown
Shoving me, nudging me, reminding me
I’m heading to reality

Tipping my head toward the warm air
The continuing whirring of its mechanism
Vibrates my follicles and lends me in the
Direction of humanity, the peacock
Plume doused and preened into shape
I begin the trawl of closet colour
Of mood matching, of image portrayal

Set for the external clock to tick
I trust myself that wheels upon tarmac
Will hold me to my destination
Releasing me safe and sound to the
Jaws of business, its never ending
Narcissism purchasing my daily bread

Released from the bind **** of
Incongruence, sheltering under the
Safe shell of my emerging reality
It comforts my bones, grazing me with
Honesty and genuine intuition that
Hope isn’t baron or depleted
Grandeur awaits me and I am true
To my facing stare.....reflecting

October 12th, 1998: This is not an apology.

♐ ♐ ♐

Most days I feel like I’m underwater. It’s like a dream where I’m never dead, just not living. Because the living cannot feel this dead. I whither away into isolation singing sweet melodies of love and peace and hope and **** and loneliness. Most days I just smile.

I am a fake. I am a liar.

I am an incongruent youth; unable to be constrained by the freedom laces of society. Tie me down and watch me run, trickle, run like an avalanche down the face of conservatism. A cheap hotel ******: musk and sweat and suits and scandals. On-the-course-to AIDS infection loose ends who walks the streets in pristine filth. The incongruent youth, or what we in America call sick **** and shameful liars.

I am confused. Standing here on the edge between glamour and reality I scream into the nothingness, the watery void, a stark reality composed of my dark humor and evanescent solitaire: How can thunder roar so loud? Why am I part of this ambient isolation? How can you do this to me; to us? The beautiful few and we are beautiful, trust me, we are in the clouds searching for each other, beguiling and anonymous as we may be waltzing merrily through nighttime New York parks searching for rarities. For others. For God. And into the emptiness I whisper: Why is this park so big? And the trees so thick?

I am waiting for "someday." But this someday, this could be, this will be, would be, won't be for awhile. And this moment, this here, this now just passed. So let's look ahead and hope it gets better, because our lives are 1942 cattle cars riding away from the nows that just passed. Moments of incongruence on a grand scale. One night stands with our own hands and imaginations. Moments we thought we knew.

I am an inconvenience on the path to wholesale liberties. To children wrapped in barren barcodes that read “no real identity” when the red dash of judgement steamrolls their sides. God forbid the glamour mix with reality. Because when you are a somebody, you can never be a nobody. And nobody wants the incongruent youth to keep thinking. Because to think is to love. And nobody wants us to love.

This is an apology. I am sorry if I’m not what you meant for me to be. Terribly sorry if I love the wrong music or words or styles or *** is all I can think about. Sorry, but I can only love the beautiful few. I can only smile knowing I am a real somebody in all this hate.

Knowing I am a fake. I am a liar.

I am a human being. Hardly. I’m nothing but an incongruent youth.

Days are normal
My picture fits into the frame
perfectly with the others

My puzzle piece finds a home
along-side the others
and life goes on
passers by don't take notice
of anything odd
because days are normal

I've never known a soul
aware enough to notice
the glue on my edges
the film across my figure
the way my edges fade out some days

my image wavers if you look to long
so keep walking

you may not see
but the feeling of incongruence
discordant interference in my voice
shows your heart the truth

my days are the wrong shade of normal
time is slower here
and life goes on

She argues the broad definition of love

"Give it a spit shine I say"
"Examine it with my magnifying glass and mag-light" she adds
We look and see our friend who suffers from psoriasis
Cracked hands and lips
Bleeding

His words began to sprawl and spiral

"Stop being so evasive
Get on with your wishful thinking
And your search for silt"
"Check the crevices of brick pavers"
"See the baseline and note the incongruence of unmarked graves"
"They took the Hippocratic oath and sang the hypocritical ode until the day they died"
"You got that *** of ABC gum and your security blanket so doze off"
"They hired absent minded chaperons to watch the die hard death defyer "
"There is a time and a place for everything
Between time and space there is anything
No rhyme or reason
For the x-ed out calendars and changing seasons"

We had no idea how to respond to any of this, notwithstanding we gave it a great deal of thought
       -Tommy Johnson

This so-called-life ceased to make sense
All logic in the matter shall be said in past tense
For all the trivial **** is too much for us to cleanse
´Tis the word for you to repeat. Now let´s commence

Moral stands the ground for incongruence
Dinner etiquette and animalistic behavior
All that profound nothing and violence
Then again we read the words of our savior

Acting as if there´s a script. Open yourself to frustration
Act accordingly and don´t get caught, or else there´s alienation
Don’t act as if there´s an after-death salvation
It is in this world, think for yourself and become a one-man´s nation

Moralistic turnouts of ****** who now embezzle into the game of society
As ridiculous as a drunk reminiscing of past days now living in sobriety
People change but hear me out, try and change a story
All you animals have your release in snobbism and never forgo its glory

Open to death old corsairs accept their fate
For they have always lived by the eternal gate
And those who portrayed falsely faith and religion
Must now rage inwards as they see the oblivion.

By: Cedric McClester

Those who don’t know history
Are doomed to repeat it
And the ignorance of ISIS
Has to be deep seated
It took thousands of years
To make it
And no time at all
For them to break it

The temples and the artifacts
Once there to see
As a testament to what
The world used to be
Are no longer there
And here’s the key
Ignorance is bliss
As we well can see

Al Baghdadi and his acolytes
Wanna change the world
But they can’t accomplish this
By ****** every girl
Who through ignorance alone
Come under their influence
One day he’ll have to answer
For his incongruence

There is a God above
Who we must answer to
ISIS and their followers
Act like they never knew
Their behavior alone shows
That they have no clue
Cos look at who they stick to
Like Krazy Glue



Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.