Howard Kuenning
We’re all Gatsby, always have been, standing lonely on our own pier,
Looking for the certain future, rich as Croesus, really, in this world,
Food, rent, man, and printed books online. It’s all on line!
Which line? Not really sure, when just a click in is a false fantasy
Self-policed by Keanu Reeves algorithmic goggle-eyed, Google-eyed,
Dr. Octo surge machines running their traps along the frozen tracks of
Our pitiless dreams—Me. Mine. My thirst. My hunger.
Feed this Dream, the American Dream,
Hydrogen clouds of nano-fission uncontrolled accelerants
Seeded and harvested in simultaneous and decayed extinction
Beyond the reach of any kind of Archeology on this campus,
This field, opposing teams faced off in this early moment of
A new Age of Hope, Build Back Better. Back, where?
To some pre-pandemic Eden that rudely shoves our
Rotten American Dream of white privilege back in line
With the failed Utopias of dreamless sleep, where nightmares lurk,
Ready to devour hope and promise, the staggering beauty of
Young hearts and minds dropped like unarmed victims into a
Turf battle for Truth, the flipped coin of Both Sides Now,
Yes, Joni, now, Both Sides? Neither looks quite right, does it?
No, it doesn’t. Yet we stand in this relative quiet, the Global Blowhard
Silenced by a click out, his scuttling parasites panicked by deafening silence,
Parched tongues thirsty for deception, unslaked. How does it feel?
The great alibi turned out to have vacuum for a soul, and the deal is a Con,
A Great Lie the bedrock on which all deals fail. At some level
We’re all jugglers and clowns, and the tricks we turn don’t matter
When we discover that he really wasn’t where it’s at,
After he took all that he could steal. In fact, there is no where, here.
It’s over there, marked in every domicile of hope and sanctuary by
The bright green gleam off Gatsby’s dock, the pitiless alien router eye of a
Vast Matrix monster gazing from a billion feeds into our hopeless spaces,
Only a click away. Go to him, now, you can’t refuse. You’ve got nothing to lose,
Now you’ve lost it all. Invisible, no secrets, concealed.
After decades living as an expatriate in Europe, Rick Kuenning lives in western North Carolina.
Rick Kuenning translates lifelong writing and teaching experience into poems informed by a quick and innovative sensibility. His work reflects a keen interest in nature, art, culture, and religious studies. It also draws on a long career in international relations and national policy. He writes with depth and variety; cultural criticism and political censure are leavened with whimsical reflection and lyrical meditations on the natural world. He is stirred by rich language; words formed into beautiful phrases allow us to see in new ways and better understand ourselves. His poems seek to provoke and inspire!
His creativity is often sparked by dialogue with other poems. He is awed by nature, angered by injustice, and moved by the stories of those whose voices are not heard. Rick Kuenning is a versatile, caring, domestic man. He reads widely, enjoys cooking, and listens to classical and popular music. His poems are forthcoming in Perceptions Magazine, Slab, and Variant.
Boring Creds: B.S. United States Military Academy, M.A. (English) Duke University, ABD (English) University of Maryland; English and Philosophy Instructor at the United States Military Academy, English Instructor at the United States Naval Academy.