The

Poetry

Defense

Will the poem please rise.

(The poem stands, holds

up right hand)

                                

Do you agree to tell the truth,

the whole truth, and nothing

but the truth, so help you

God?

“If allowed to be myself.”

It’s come to the attention

of this court that you

will be representing

your case

and giving unsolicited

testimony in opposition

to the standard norm

as you seem to suffer

from a form of autism,

an inability to hold

your own at table.

“I do not suffer autism,

rather, I speak in tongues;

the language of

consequence.”

Is it true that you are the

sole witness to a murder

in which a body

has yet to be found?

“I myself am murdered

on a daily basis

as my existence

no longer

causes a stir.”

Is it true you can never be

sure what you saw

but can make your feelings known

via magnetic refrigerator verse

and a Scrabble of nouns

and verbs that you

have claimed as the last

vestige for honesty?

“I am a consciousness

in recovery, your honor.”

Is it also true that you are

incapable of the literal

and choose only to think

with your heart?

“I find facts too unfeeling.”

It says here that you are

incapable of lying

as truth is always

what you refer to

as “said” feeling.

“A poem has no reason to lie.

 Nor will you reason me away.”

How is it that you are able

to testify from inside your body

when, in fact, you only have life

to those who gaze upon you?

“To ease the burden

of my gift for knowing,

I wait to be loved.”

Does this odd cadence

of yours

assist you

in remembering?

“My way of speaking

is my crux for change.”

How so? You might please

the court by giving us

an example.

“Money spends us.”

Surely you can be more explicit.

“I am not a bill of goods.”

It states here that

on cross examination

you were able to

make use of

time travel to trace

the very first ring

you purchased with your

allowance earned by

mowing lawns and carrying

your father’s golf clubs

at a local Country Club.

I believe it was

during a side trip

to see “The Mystery Spot”,

where you say it was

actually possible

to roll a ball uphill.

It says here that it was

off highway I-75 that your

family’s blue Buick struck

and killed a deer.

Was that in fact, the first time

you saw a thing die?

“I don’t curry in facts, but

I’ve seen myself die

many times.”

Come now, you can’t say

such a thing so blithely

when you stand before

this court so clearly

evidence to the contrary.

“I am never contrary.”

Allow me to press you further.

It’s written here that this

incident with the deer

led to a protracted puberty

spent practicing witchcraft,

a kind of latent sorcery.

“I am helpless to be

anything other than

the sum total of my

own ramifications.”

Do you pretend to be so elliptical

that you find it unnecessary

to explain yourself to the satisfaction

of this court? Would you dare to be

so un-bold as to be

blasphemous?

“My hidden talent is for playing

dead by the side of the road.”

Then your words are less

than antidotal.

“I am con to your prose.

I am more antidote.

Therefore, you are

the blasphemy.”

I would address this court

with more respect. It is not your

place to file complaint.

“Poetry never complains.

If it’s any good.”

What else does poetry never do,

I’d be remiss not to ask?

(The poem begins to shed it’s garments.)

“I make no judgments

of those who observe me.

I pass no illnesses, nor carry germs.

I don’t gossip and never name names.

I won’t ask your age

or make small talk.

I never condemn the other.”

Go on, then.

“I am a gorgeously open-minded

corpse more than willing to be

lingered over by a cabal

of curious strangers.

I am a translator of spirit

and a vehicle for space travel,

inner and outer.

I am a vessel for relinquished

desire.

I am both chaff and wheat,

I am the ache to be whole.

A uniter of friends and enemies.

I am after all willing to stand

before you naked and shivering

stripped to the essential thing

for your callous inspection.

Don’t you see

I am naked before you, madams

and sirs!!”

You do well to unburden yourself.

Continue.

“I can disentangle your prides

and dismantle your fears

because I can make them mine.

I can lance a wound.

I can mix the blood of both

victim and perpetrator

and hold up a mirror

to your mirror and glimpse infinity.”

I dare say you are a know-it-all.

“I can get to the bottom of things,

show you what might go wrong

in cleaving to the literal and material

at the expense of the sacred.”

Then I suspect you are a force

to be reckoned with. Whatever

are we to conclude of you?

“Wedge me in a bottle

and cast me out to sea.

Go on living your lives

of logic and accumulation.

I will not be added to your

chaos of clutter.

I demand you embrace my

utter lack of utility.

I am guilty, your honor.

Do with me what you will,

only let me testify

to the astonishment

of having once been

gloriously

and inexplicably

alive.

(pause)

The defense rests.”

Peter Valentyne

June 2nd, 2019