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"The poet is of no party." Baudelaire
Our manifesto is an act of substantiation.
We reject all forms of futilitarianism, in whatever disguise.
We believe that comedy is the song of the village and tragedy the song of the goat.
We believe what is written in the books, but now we want to see for ourselves.
The single idea, beating on the same doors in vain.
The analogue and the invention.
The death cell.
The first permission.
Though we watch the stage for things to happen, though our minds wander.
By ourselves in the green field, playing our diversion.
Though the story begins with the loss of a home.
Out of the machine, we shift restlessly in our seats.

Issue: ELEVEN, WINTER 2022

13 | 12 | 11 | ARCHIVE: 1–10

{ Manifesto }

_from_ The Billy Ripken Fuckface Card

Mathias Svalina

The Billy Ripken Fuckface Card

Voice open
like a dictionary
of pleases—
to briefly hold
what I am
supposed to want.

__________

The Billy Ripken Fuckface Card

We either die
or live forever
like a tag
spraypainted on a church:
HORSE BIRTH
DR FART.
The dead
are only open
to the living.

__________

The Billy Ripken Fuckface Card

A crumb of poem
only feels like a meal
to those who're already fed.
We each need something
only others can make.
Make what only you can make,
never knowing who needs it,
only knowing someone does.

__________

The Billy Ripken Fuckface Card

Dig through the mirror
& unearth a garden.
Write your name in dirt
until your name is dirt.
Time blooms,
then blushes,
& bleeds.