From the Fall, 2014 issue of The Antioch Review.
HE DO THE POLICE IN DIFFERENT VOICES by Eric Weinstein You mightn't think it, but Sloppy is a beautiful reader of a newspaper. He do the Police in different voices. —Charles Dickens, Our Mutual Friend Halo halo halo peridol— in the body's hive a virus dreams of cheap no (laughs) democracy archangels in Arkansas & a hospital room for improvement. Suffers allusions of grandeur, hail lucina, lucidae, half born lunatic— You don't believe that. PAUSE —No, only a vacuum cleaner than you'd suspect resisting arrest, give it a rest, cardiac, our rest, you have the right to silent remains eternal, night eternal, night to night, tonight recall: no moon no stars are visible from Hello, operator? No one is here. No one is here. Gabriel Gabriel twelve winged Gabriel— many I'd Gabriel— radio in the night wakes us, human voices wake us, did you say you're hearing voices? Concern over repeat, suspect fleeing on foot, over, by car, over, by sea, over, who by water who by fire who by beast who by plague by a virus incubates a virus, ink blots out man whom I have created from the face of the land will not yield to you: next door a fetus incubates & Gabriel ushers him in the sky the stars go out one by one last chance, tell me what you know you won't if you know anything give me a call, the dial tone of voice, vox humana, & reed stops waving, the sea of reeds stops waving, nothing moves: Halo hallow hollow hello hello, I am here. I was always here. Let us cross, planks & nails, a ship. In the body's hive a virus dreams of ships. Of ships & bottles. A wall on its right hand & on its left behind, it said to me hither, too, shall you come, but no further— static drowned the rest. I never said that. The cathedrals of the lungs expel water, echo, oh, the organs working together now, the hum of the night's machinery, the neighboring ventilator, Gabriel's insect wings, radio, distant stars laboring, dark eve laboring, evening harboring ships, the walls all washing out in blue & red, sirens, hushed voices, parents, the voice amniotic, the organic polyphonic chords, the umbilical chords in the nave of hearts oh of hearts oh of hearts.
Eric Weinstein’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in AGNI, Alaska Quarterly Review, Bat City Review, The Believer, Court Green, Crazyhorse, Gulf Coast, The Iowa Review, The New Yorker, Ploughshares, Shenandoah, The Southern Review, The Yale Review, and elsewhere. He lives in New York City.
© 2014 The Antioch Review