If future is panic and capital is crisis, and if Amish wrote FuturePanic, and if poetry is circuits, and if Amish links effect pedals in a circus of wire, and if his SimCity map has spectral plumbing, and plumbing extends to the fleshy blue cords in my face then my mouth is STANDPIPE & my nose is LATRINE and I’m smelling Amish’s poems which carry the delectable scent of used cars filled with fresh soil sprouting tulips AND HIT THE DISTORTION I met Amish in a Fayetteville gallery built upon Bourdieuian infrastructure or an “anti-economy economy” which sounds like SimCity getting hit with a meteor AND HIT THE CHORUS an intermittent wave of red frowning faces as wages decrease and now do you know where you are yes I’m of course in Amish’s sans serif lines hanging out on those lovely fucking indents like a luxuriant condo balcony crumbling into the sea, HIT THE MOTHERFUCKING WAH.
Marty Cain is the author of three books of poetry and hybrid writing, most recently The Prelude (Action Books, 2023). Individual works appear in Best American Experimental Writing, Fence, Denver Quarterly, Poetry Daily, and elsewhere. He holds an MFA from the University of Mississippi and a PhD from Cornell, where he is currently a postdoctoral fellow. He lives in Ithaca, NY with his spouse and daughter.