We are Ephemeraniacs, meaning we are manic for the ephemeral conditions
of mortality!
Ephemeraniacs stand in solidarity with all reconstituted parts of
history, for example a Neanderthal dad sweetly carrying his daughter on his shoulders.
The last octopus’ last dream is a sacred prophecy of the Ephemeraniacs.
Ephemeranicas love black holes in the universe’s ripped stomach moaning
like trees rubbing in a windstorm.
The Ephemeraniacs’ river is the Mississippi River which continues washing over countless drowned corpses even though they are already crushed under sorrow’s ceaseless greased wheels!
Ephemeraniacs align themselves with animists because every object is a
fragment of god’s omniscience: Burger King dumpster, left palms, dodos, etc, etc.
Ephemeraniacs are held fast upon the noose of looking, where Jesus and
his geosynchronous father-eye bounds around—Ephemeraniacs deny him! (Even Jesus’ boner
diminished).
Mortality sucks! Immortality blows!
Ephemeraniacs love a bomb’s nested promise, the shock, the sound, the
singe, the spectacle!
One way to become an Ephemeraniac is to watch countless snuff videos of
people dying in horrific accidents on the Internet.
What a room full of Ephemeraniacs sounds like is something akin to a
thousand hummingbirds bathing in a whale’s aorta.
The countless nicks of time, the countless runnels of blood made, are a
kind of masochistic orgiastic pleasure for Ephemeraniacs!
Every bifurcated hour another Ephemeraniac dies along with another
animal species—bound together in sickness and more sickness.
The Futurists? Morons.
Ephemeraniacs respect those that spent 40 years in a cave in the
Annapurna Range, who swept their domicile daily, with a rock.
Once an Ephemeraniac watched a Youtube video of a clock ticking and had
to remember that it wasn’t just online time going away also real time reeling away.
Ephemeraniacs reject common proposals of anti-grace.
Let’s get real (this is a hard-won insight from Ephemeraniacs) funerals
are a supercilious showboat!
Ephemeraniacs love the spoken poem, stupid technology bumping for only
a second in all our dumb skulls.
Ephemeraniacs believe in a sentient race of proto-beavers roaming Earth
millions of years before humans.
Ephemeraniacs have said goodbye a lot, sometimes to the same brother
many, many times Ephemeraniacs don’t want to say goodbye anymore, that’s why Ephemeraniacs seek out other
Ephemeraniacs!
Ephemeraniacs recognize humanity’s landfills compressed into a band two
millimeters thick in the future’s future’s future geological record.
Andy Butter lives and works in south Minneapolis and is a founding
editor of The Call Center Collective. Author of the chapbook To Circumambulate a Sacred Lake (Yo-Yo Labs @ Portable Press), his work has appeared in The Baffler, The Drift, Colorado Review, Passages North, Sierra, and elsewhere. He can be found online at andybutter.com.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
