Question & Answer 5 – Todd Swift

Question 5

The trick is to argue for ignorance, place all your assumptions under
regal blankets and provide donatio Constantini. Literature
operating as ponzi scheme – I’m oulipian if the constraints rely on
justification. Lustig sold the Eiffel Tower, I’m just selling red
acid down the river [not a river] leats. Each line is some
neat excuse for De Beers to build and

house some marketing campaign around the value of
oration I never chose. There’s no significance in the message, no
reason to accept somebody will be willing to purchase these words and sleep
soundly on them. Hair shed, pillow wet, do you dream of Doúreios Híppos
entering Troy?

– Aaron Kent

Answer 5

Canadiana was toppled by a man
Who wore his sly fedora

Like a battleplan; devastating
Gloom a glamour, darkness

Sitting for one’s kin; the Klan
That burns the heartless crosses

Is the one that lost their oars;
You drift to shore on ignorance

Once the battle hymn’s been sung,
The stars and stripes torn apart.

Yon future’s thrown to reckless
Abandon, gone to seed in word

And Abaddon, as if the holy bible
Was a blueprint for building sin.

His feckless crew threw their captain
To low sharks, then set high masts

Aglow with gasoline; hijinks musicked
To the light of a damaged moon.

The ship of state is sick, C. Manson
A sad maidenhead and DJ Trump

Playing relentless simplicity,
Hate’s pitiable tunes; victory

Is another way of destroying
What one hates to be;

Vaster Reality got sucked out
Like a bad yolk long ago.

I loved Cohen and I hated him
In equal measures of age

And lust; he was the victim
Suffering less with each great moan;

He was the rag and bone guy
Strumming a ghetto violin;

The ash of his ancestors drifting
Like Frost’s snowy evening,

But this was the ghoulish milk of
Weimar evil plucking every string;

No trusted cantor ever sings
Without a sense of G-D;

Senseless to bring lyricism
To a fragile world otherwise

Than in darkening optimism;
Now, lights are out across

The plains, and Abraham
Has taken the glinting promise

To the prominent vein;
Our sons of freedom bleed

Their bright longing meanness
And the daughters are betrayed;

Grand old republic, singed Ilium,
The half-clad emperor is abed

After sleeping with the soldiery;
And Leonard the lover is dead.

Undead, like Lugosi, in his tomb,
Restless like Lincoln

While the batwings bloom,
And the need for ever-urgent

Loving continues its slow pace
Of opiated gentleness, gathering.

Bless the gentile and the Jew,
The many and the few,

The small and the elite,
The manly and effete,

But love what is higher than true;
That good pours out of heaven

It spills and slips, uneven.
And pours back into you.


– Todd Swift