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Another Hauntology

Mathilda Cullen

for Bartleby

All around: an envelope unlicked. The roosters,
as one could have expected, are taking out the

twilight. A village assembled to mourn futurity.
Families are gathered, their heads bent against the

weight of the sunset. They are trying to hold it up.
They are failing to hold it up. A father brews a pot

of coffee, a gesture of strength against repetition.
The people form a line and the line is this one. A

break in the chain of the poem that is these people
that is this history: a gesture of strength against

repetition. I am firing blanks walking toward
Wall Street aiming at the idea of it and the lizards

only the gun is jammed and I am
without a gun; there is no revolution.

And from the cold dark a tongue reaches out to lick.
Stampless, the envelope lies on the table. Some shit like that.

Also by Mathilda Cullen

When I Said To Watch For The Fire

Returning Quanta: Bodies Sinking Again As They Must

Into the Moment Fall Particulates And Outward They Move in Single-File

My Language Drops Like A Snake From the Forked Tongue of Desire

Proceedings of the Show Trials Following the Climate Uprising

Proles who trampled a paragraph

A Name Replaced Like a Name

Another Hauntology