Knack Poem by Miranda Arocho

Private self-medication
Through disturbed nature;
Shoot me, Marcel Duchamp

There are no innovative drive-thrus
Nothing left to question
When knack is no longer less than concrete

Thus,
Collected eyesores, idle and
Sick of the sties
Longing for aesthetic eccentricity
Interpretation beyond earthly adjectives

Are there no webs
For this avant-garde tarantula?
From the depths
Of every self-interested stanza

When the painter
Has no other act of creation to admire
And the poet
Is appalled at how they receive her work

Oddity’s culture
Fanatically magnified to the reverberations
Of mirrored universes
That no longer exist

Longing,
Waking up to pools of sugared sweat
Where dreaming was last seen

High on the table of contents
This dinosaur presents
Along with the buried fossils
Of Theodor Adorno

There are no innovative drive-thrus
Nothing left to question
When knack is no longer less than concrete