This is not a summer. This is not what we. This is not a mask. This is not the time to. This is not how we. This is not a joke. This is not a series of numbers. This is not why we. What, now, is this that is left of us?
On Finding a Copy of Becoming Turned Over in WalMart
This is the summit that will not be seen
by those who pretend the mountain isn’t there,
so they can say she hasn’t climbed it.
Turning Point USA
- text of 45’s speech at Turning Point USA, Youth Action Summit, West Palm Beach, FL, Dec.22, 2019
I never understood wind. You know,
I know windmills very much. I’ve studied it
better than anybody I know.
Tremendous — if you’re into this —
tremendous fumes. Gases are
spewing into the atmosphere.
You know we have a world, right?
So the world is tiny compared to the universe.
You talk about the carbon footprint — fumes are spewing
into the air. Right? Spewing. Whether it’s in China, Germany,
it’s going into the air. It’s our air, their air,
everything — right?
Someday, you’ll see
more birds than you’ve ever seen in your life,
a bird graveyard.
A windmill will kill many bald eagles.
It’s true. If you own a house within
vision of some of these monsters.
No, but — and you see these magnificent fields,
and they’re owned —
and you know what they don’t tell you
about windmills? You know,
they start to get tired, old.
You got to replace them.
Max Heinegg's poems have been nominated for Best of the Net, and The Pushcart Prize. He's been a finalist for the poetry prizes of Crab Creek Review, December Magazine, Cultural Weekly, Cutthroat, Rougarou, Asheville Poetry Review, the Nazim Hikmet prize, and Twyckenham Notes. Recent work appears in Thrush, Nimrod, The Cortland Review, and Love's Executive Order. He lives in Medford, MA where he is a high school English teacher. Additionally, he is a singer-songwriter and recording artist whose records can be heard at www.maxheinegg.com
from zero to 100
a protest poem after victor borge on the muppet show, viewed after may 25, 2020
to the men in blue, the us is black & blue, so what are we to do? must i throw a shoe? this is ludicrous. u n i sing the blues no thanks to you n your blue uniform. Floyd’s blackbird awaits another season. you think in uniform you r the law yet you r a squad, a gang, a mob, a herd, stepping way out of bounds. you r bound to u n i n u n i r separated from you by you. blue bayou soup’s on the menu. you men, you hounds, u n i r fed up with pigs on steroids. you eat it, you macho men, you. eat it from your flow blue china shards while it’s still rotting from head to tail. you flipped on us. you banned us from left rights. u n i r us. black & white unicorns on brand. u n i r bands. u n i r stars. u n i r singular. u n i r united within your lines. we r bonded by the boundless. u n i don’t need to be informed by ur uniform. united we stand. uniform we march. u n i form unit. left. right. left. in uniform we march to protest, to protect simple rights you left out. u n i chant no justice; no peace. to terrorize? we learned it from you. we r sick of ur sic-em sound-offs. you sound off. you r tone-deaf. you whistle like a weasel out your blow horn. you use your batons on us violently? u n i blackout. you don’t see us. u n i use batons to conduct the blue danube. together u n i form music. it’s black keys to the kingdom & white keys to kingdom come. come out from behind your steinway & sons’ stretched-out strings no one is playing. you just keep pushing. put a lid on it. your sharp is flat. your wall won’t keep us out. we’ve come out of our shells slowly but surely. the walls you built with lines are lies. your lines are black & white & read all over. aren’t you disconcerted? you won’t weasel your way out of this one. your lines will intersect any moment to form the cursed insignia. lines of capitalism crisscrossed with lines of fascism to form absolutism b4 you. you r all blind rats. we will not be trapped to sing eldelweiss. we will not do the colonel bogey march. not again. absolute power corrupts absolutely. you have been trained like dogs. you don’t know any better. u n i keep trying to reach you & teach you new tricks. but it’s in your bones now, isn’t it? you use your glut for what? your borderlines will be marginalized. u n i form unit of closeness n u n i cannot watch any more horrific 6 o’ clock news 57 to 10532 honks around the rock. on rock for 9 minutes on face of a clock. what do you see in the mirror because you’ve been caught on camera. wake up & smell the coffee & do-nots. we r ready for you to serve us. it’s time for you to serve us, then request forgiveness for our despair. beg like a dog for the us to make up with you. we r ready when you r. suck your gun like a thumb & beg for it. raise your white flag n u n i will raise up the black & blue. on the street we live on, from these same no-escape windows, Floyd’s guitar gently weeps. maybe you’ll see with the lasso of truth. you can’t x out any more days for us. you have no clue what’s cooking. what’s on the menu according to who? you r your uniform. why don’t you go bare on patrol for once???? no uniform. no weapon. no shield. no badge. how does that feel? you can’t hide behind your badge. keep it as souvenir, what do we care. life’s closed down. go hang ur clothes out to dry. your genes don’t fit you anymore. you’ve shrunk. how could you corrupt our youth? your union fuses too much confusion. u n i form love. it’s simple. every human is a perfect being the second she is born. you will get yours. it’s about to bust wide open & if you can see beyond your blind legal eyes, you will see us— the us of u n i n our pepper-sprayed & tear-gassed eyes— as the victors(.)
(@muppoet) another queer artist living in New York City where he obtained an MFA. He teaches at Grace and bartends at 3 Dollar Bill. He has some work published or forthcoming in Transfer, Promethean, Dream Pop, Indolent Books, Office Magazine, Osmanthus, Selcouth Station, & COUNTERCLOCK.