The Manufacture of Persistence

by Jesse S. Mitchell


There is a subtle persistence to this world,
A profanity of existence,
A thousand yard thrall,
An always watching never blinking
Constant fall, forever burning,
Careening, plunging,
Sightless, flame-licking, bitter-lunging.

And the rain lets up.
And the rain lets up.
Let it shine.

Too much of our memories are manufactured
In this fashion
Of these things,
Like histories of hysterics,
Harmonic, mechanic.
The grim politics of sound,
The wild blood drum pound
Of rushing gushing heart bleeding drown,
Drowning out the all-round-everything
Everywhere noise,
The persistant sneaking in/shaking down
Of voice/voices/voiceless.

And the rain lets up
And the rain lets up.
Out comes the sun
Let it shine.
Let it shine.

The evil/divine/profane/sacred/red/blue/black/white
 waving back and forth
Of river-like tidal things each and every night
Ebbs and flows.
It shrinks/it grows
It dulls/it glows
It dies/it fights
And it
And it…
And it persists
And persists
And persists.

And the rain lets up
And lets out the sun,
Dear God,
It persists,
Let it shine.