Joshua Corwin
I AM MYTH / a dead cherry blossom hanging / from a
blonde, blue-eyed boy / darting across the park / where I
lay, / a field of grass / stratocastered in air, / noise pollution
/ red pick-up trucks creaking, / broken exhaust pipes
leaking / mythical moment, / inevitable dart again / a child /
who will never live in a world / without cell phones /
without noise pollution, / without cockroach fumes /
squashing him along with the will / to adventure / past
point A to B, / stuck in traffic on the 405 Freeway. //
Yesterday, I read a good myth / on the Venice sidewalk, /
“LA, city of angels / who never cry rain.” / Where are my
angels’ tears? / Abrahamic orifices / round dark pools blue /
fighting hierarchies / lifeform-giving hues / a real areal
drone strike / striving to stay alive, / Varicose veins and
gravity / grieve for graven / images we splatter / across the
highway / of pretentiousness a priori / Amesha Spentas † /
created by horse warlord / whoring wars into hordes of man
/ made in the image / mad / savior of shelter, / emanations
of shackles / on dystopian ankles / ankhs with angst, /
Egyptian phase / pyramid postulates— / We circumvent our
penultimate / ablation, enslave the moon / with our
moonshine / and sigh outward / past guardians / who
protect us / from enveloping trust / in us, // my Angelenos. /
Where are my fellow angels? / Extinguished, fumes? /
Exhausted, sprawled / on floor of broken dreams, /
homeless, unafraid / because they couldn’t fear losing any
more / Life has become / point A to point B / in a fury of
pollution? // Nauseating noise never / nearing the end of
pitiful, plentiful cups of wine bred red / breadcrumbs
dipped, brimming / over an Eden of ca-ching, ca-ching /
into cemeteries cashing in crease / last fold of fiat money /
into a paper plane I throw / myself into world whispering
wisdom / waning, groaning, blank, staring down words into
freedom, / a baritone sigh of prose / from a Prozac-popping
/ freedom fighter who’s out of hope / and in need of dope /
to dive off the mountain into the Olympic- / sized
swimming pool, / casting ballots of gunfire galore / into
schools, churches, congress / gun bullet gun – bulletins
produced by bullets’ sin / down highway signs, waves of
ads, he claps his hands / and shouts the mythic moment
masterfully / sinewstruck bones reverberating vomit of
nausea / noise. No ice to pour in his glass, sketch the life he
threw down / into a dark bluish pool purposeless.
† In Zoroastrianism, Amesha Spentas refer to a class of six divine proto-archangels created by Ahura Mazdā (“Wise Lord”).
Joshua Corwin, a Los Angeles native, is a neurodiverse, 2-time Pushcart Prize-nominated, Best of the Net-nominated poet and Winner of the 2021 Spillwords Press Award for Poetic Publication of Year. His poetry memoir Becoming Vulnerable (2020) details his experience with autism, addiction, sobriety and spirituality. He has lectured at UCLA, published
alongside Lawrence Ferlinghetti and read with 2013 U.S. Inaugural Poet Richard Blanco. He hosts the poetry podcast “Assiduous Dust,” writes the weekly “Incentovise” column for Oddball Magazine and teaches poetry to neurodiverse individuals and autistic addicts in recovery at The Miracle Project, an autism nonprofit. Please visit www.joshuacorwin.com
