I’m Having a Crisis of Narrative
1.
I worry
I have lived
& will
die
in the same
small
enclosure
as Dolly
the cloned
sheep.
2.
I think
I’m allergic
to being
surveilled.
The 16
newly
installed
cameras
that bristle
at the top
of the
streetlights
in this
intersection
cause
a pale &
flaky rash
to erupt
on the
back
of my neck.
3.
Dolly was
a state
sponsored
project
mediated
by private
money.
She was
a marketing
team’s
dream.
The humility
implied
by such a
huge
scientific
achievement
taking
the form
of a sheep
evoked
immense
public feeling.
4.
I worry
that with
each
new
pattern
of camo
we invent
(A digital
swirl of
orange,
pink,
& teal
resembling
futuristic
vomit)
there is
a suitably
dystopic
habitat
& a suitably
sci-fi
war yet
to be achieved.
5.
Dolly was
born
in July
of 1996 &
euthanized
in February
of 2003
due to a
lung
disease
emphatically
unrelated
to her
being a
clone.
It was
a common
affliction
for sheep
that are kept
indoors
their entire
lives
as Dolly
was for
reasons
of security.
6.
My life
isn’t mine
alone.
Many
hands dive
into
the cake.
I scrape
at myself
with my
thumbnail.
I try
to find &
reveal
the glyph
that
codes
my fortune.
7.
A sheep
being
a trope
for innocence.
It can be
nice
to recline
in the
comfort
of a
cliche.
To be
embraced
by the
ease &
simplicity
of symbolism
that soothes
like a
narrative
salve.
It makes
contemplating
a cage with
a clone
in it
much
less unsettling.
8.
There’s
an equal
sign
carved
into my
forehead.
Two
long
trenches
of concern
run
parallel to
my mouth &
obscure
my
third eye.
9.
In a rare
act
of mercy
a court ruled
that Dolly
couldn’t
be patented.
“Abstract
ideas,
natural
phenomena
& laws
of nature
are not
patentable
subject matter.”
10.
I want
to be
a candle.
11.
I want
to learn
to say
“communism”
with my
body
instead
of my mouth.
12.
Heat
that starts
at the
top
of my head
& forces
a canal
down
through me
until I’m
slowly
collapsing
into
myself.
Folding
up
around
my radiance.
Sloughing
off
layers
that pool at
my base.
13.
I dab my
tears
with a
Q-tip.
I’ve tried
to strip
off any
costume.
I’ve lived
a life
in the
charming
shadow
of various
buildings &
brand names.
I’m now
seeking
backpay
for the
dreams
in which
I’ve worked.
14.
The act
of creation
being
subject
to copyright.
The object
of creation
is not.
15.
I’m now
seeking
retcon
for the
years
in which
I lived
as a boy.
I’m now
seeking
revenge
for the
sheep
that have
been cloned.
16.
I’m a
gleaming
torso.
Limbs
so light
they rise
up &
float away.
The Founding Fathers
intended. It’s a dumb myth. It’s a catastrophic molt. The phone continues to ring. The technician
takes over for the executioner. Everyone has a theory. The unsettled weather. The collective
spittoon. The depopulated region. I’m concerned that some people’s idea of utopia is a planet
where everyone else is dead– it’s a grocery store where they never have to wait in line. It’s a
private DMV. It’s the ruins of a city overgrown with their favorite kind of flower. I want people
to develop a taste for what they deserve– everything. I’ve got a plan. My life will not become the
size of a dime. We can empty the prisons to fill the senate. It’s an easy fix. It’s very dialectical.
The Worldly Market
attend us. Its logics worked to take us apart. We migrated based on necessity. We reproduced
with a passion. We woke too early. We spent long hours trying to paint a constellation of desire
onto a very high ceiling. We examined the smudge of our shadows against its confectionary
colors. We took tests by peeing into cups & looked for things to steal. We recognized ourselves
in things. A genius arrived in the last hour of our workday & claimed everything we produced.
When he slept we licked our lips. When we yawned we bared our teeth. When it got cold we
sharpened our axes.
Simon Crafts
Simon Crafts is a poet, adjunct, and former bookseller at Alley Cat Books in San Francisco. Their writing has been featured in Jewish Currents, Social Text, and The Poetry Project Newsletter.