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All You're Losing.

 It's Easter Eve in Trax, and hot as hell, in 1986
Charlottesville, And Paul Westerberg of the Replacements has forgotten
the words to "Skyway"-- the only song everyone else knows the
words to-- and as everything hurdy-gurdies to a kind of halt some other
drunk yells, "A Little Mascara," and Bob Stinson, flat on his
back, cranks the A and E from his Firebird and somehow the whole machine
takes off, and before you know it, Westerberg's wailing, All
you're losing is ... a little mascara
 , and it's true, love is like that, and my friend Elizabeth is
peeling off her shirt, and so's Ginsberg, and all of us are skunk
drunk, bug-eyed gods and the night's looking pretty good all
around. Allen's been asking the world to forgive Pound for hating
the Jews, and everyone in the lecture-hall in this town we call Whitey
seems more than happy to forgive: usura, usura, okay
 USA. At dinner he told us to fuck poetry altogether and get into
computers, The future
, he said, live with it
, right as always, the beautiful bastard, man among angels, but I wanted
to piss on his feet, we all did, or kiss them, I don't know:
Forgive us our past, that drunken bafflement....
But now, Jesus, now, today
, it's perfect and we all understand: the show's done, and ten
years later everyone will sound like Westerberg, and Cobain &
friends will die for it, just like Bird died for it, and everyone
else--for Christ's sake-- great and bitter, rock and roll, and
before and after, we'll get tweaked in the back of the restaurant
where everyone worked, where someone will snort a smiley face off the
bar, and we'll drive out to Monticello, for God's sake, for
the sunrise service because we're sentimental by now, and because
Allen was dying soon, and so was Bob, and all of us, and because
Jefferson loved his negroes, after all, and they'd be there in the
mist of the hill, the mist of this beautiful country that tries to
forgive everyone, every last one of us, and we're all climbing the
hill slumped like somebody's lashed to our backs--all of us--Allen,
Paul, Elizabeth, me, everyone--the sun's coming up, and I'm
holding Elizabeth, and so's Paul, and we're all crying by now,
singing hymns, like everybody else-- the rocker Jesus, the faggot Jew
Jesus, every black Jesus in the ground, sweet Jesus of the painted eyes,
the pale light spilling down the hill Jesus, the
one-nation-conceived-in-Tom-Jefferson's-stables-and-brought-forthin-the- pixelated-fire-of-technologic-wonder Jesus, shattered,
atomized--the future, the past, all you're losing.... We're
crying by now, singing hymns, like everybody else--crying on a great
American hill because you just don't lose that much when you do. 


DAVID DANIEL directs the undergraduate creative writing program at Fairleigh Dickinson University, where he also founded WAMFEST: The Words and Music Festival. These poems are from a recently completed book tentatively titled Ornaments & Other Assorted Love Songs. The essay is excerpted from a memoir-in-progress, The Fall-Down Diet. Seven-Star Bird, his first book, is available from Graywolf Press.
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Title Annotation:four poems
Author:Daniel, David (American poet)
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Sep 1, 2010
Words:610
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