An inquiry concerning the poetics of, like, whatever

The poem behind the poem says what do we do with the other creatures of this world? Those that stay put, stay put; those that move, raise their mobile devices to the window and press record. What do we do with the other languages of this world, the other ways to forget or fall silent? Dogs can’t be the only ones whose vocalizations have adapted to the inattentiveness of the human ear. And there’s a bird in New Guinea that can imitate with equal accuracy a camera shutter or a chainsaw. What do we do with ourselves during the 99% of our lives when we are not listening to the poem (song, prayer) in which our actual names happen to be recorded, and customs agents are demanding more and more documentation for everything that crosses a line, while those that stay put learn to imitate themselves… I’m sorry, what was the question again? I’ve been busy collecting photographs of cherubs. I love how they manage to be both fleshy and impossible. And now the voices are telling me to mind the gap— over and over, as if that were our most essential task…