Justice
by Matt Cooper
"I’m as green as the grass
In every song you wrote.”
--John Moreland
Did you fall off of the Earth?
Did you go out to sea and you’re
Still out there floating somewhere?
Did you take a flight to Brazil one weekend?
Are you just in the Amazon now
And you’re still hanging by one arm from the
Old boughs of a big ancient Precatoria tree?
Did you take off for Los Angeles to
Find where the music came from?
Are you still on the 405 and sitting
In your busted Oldsmobile Cutlass--
Tapping your feet transient to
The beat of John Bonham comin’ back to life through
The speakers mixing with the beat of the wind
Rolling through your windows that won’t
Roll up?
Did you board a flight to Israel?
Did you find your lord at the Wailing Wall
And make your peace with god
For taking her away?
And then did your plane home get swept
Up in the Bermuda Triangle and now
You’re having tea with Aleister Crowley
And Rabindranath Tagore inside the event horizon
Of a black hole somewhere/sometime/
Maybe you’re outside time?
Well—are you? Did you?
Did you, old man?
Or—did you really die, but just in some funny way?
Did you visit a paper factory and trip and
Fall head first into the paper maker
And now your heart and fingertips are mixed up
In the sinews of the paper I’m writing this poem on?
Would that even mean you were dead?
Because I don’t think so.
Did you enjoy the trip and
The universe’s fingerprints on your eyes?
Because I did. And I also know—it was Just.
It was just cancer--
With its heavy ass foot on the gas pedal of your life
Taking you
Taking you through the garden of Eden just to watch
Where it started
Taking you through the great voids of the cosmos
Taking you, taking you into the past and future and present
Taking you into the hearts of your grandchildren that
Aren’t born yet
Taking you into the mirror I see when I brush my teeth
Every single day
Taking you
Taking you
Taking you
Faster than the speed of all the light--
Back home
To god.
In every song you wrote.”
--John Moreland
Did you fall off of the Earth?
Did you go out to sea and you’re
Still out there floating somewhere?
Did you take a flight to Brazil one weekend?
Are you just in the Amazon now
And you’re still hanging by one arm from the
Old boughs of a big ancient Precatoria tree?
Did you take off for Los Angeles to
Find where the music came from?
Are you still on the 405 and sitting
In your busted Oldsmobile Cutlass--
Tapping your feet transient to
The beat of John Bonham comin’ back to life through
The speakers mixing with the beat of the wind
Rolling through your windows that won’t
Roll up?
Did you board a flight to Israel?
Did you find your lord at the Wailing Wall
And make your peace with god
For taking her away?
And then did your plane home get swept
Up in the Bermuda Triangle and now
You’re having tea with Aleister Crowley
And Rabindranath Tagore inside the event horizon
Of a black hole somewhere/sometime/
Maybe you’re outside time?
Well—are you? Did you?
Did you, old man?
Or—did you really die, but just in some funny way?
Did you visit a paper factory and trip and
Fall head first into the paper maker
And now your heart and fingertips are mixed up
In the sinews of the paper I’m writing this poem on?
Would that even mean you were dead?
Because I don’t think so.
Did you enjoy the trip and
The universe’s fingerprints on your eyes?
Because I did. And I also know—it was Just.
It was just cancer--
With its heavy ass foot on the gas pedal of your life
Taking you
Taking you through the garden of Eden just to watch
Where it started
Taking you through the great voids of the cosmos
Taking you, taking you into the past and future and present
Taking you into the hearts of your grandchildren that
Aren’t born yet
Taking you into the mirror I see when I brush my teeth
Every single day
Taking you
Taking you
Taking you
Faster than the speed of all the light--
Back home
To god.
Matt Cooper is a professor of English at Wichita State University. He is a poet and student of languages. He does calligraphy and lives in a small apartment with four cats.