Godzilla: King of Monsters
Will Vincent

dear Diary I’m sorry okay?

you guys I’m in this plane

fresh off the wet tarmac 

rubber asphalt little tugboat car machines 

luggage haulers extending pistons spilling oil

you can almost see the time lapse

yellowed in sepia in some drug movie or biopic 

about a band we’re not allowed to say we hate

the musicians ascend from garage to stardom and drugs again

I don’t know Philly well enough so I won’t attempt to name it

so look Diary this movie is on

I’m watching and writing like Dodie did with the TV Sutras 

now I’m thinking of Kevin

who passed and there’s a million obituaries all over the web

but I should do something 

like a Spicer marathon-reading

where we march whomever to read the collected 

over empty barstools 

it will be sort of mostly cute but briefly profound

as the wind catches in the doorway and fills everyone with feeling

so look Diary you doom-sayer

Coach Tim Taylor is in this one

clear eyes blue hearts live forever

the blue light of the giant lizards’ tank

bathes his human skin

he looks serious

the rules of football are complicated

he’s in the bottom of the 9th

4th and down down

he’s got his son in the end zone for a Hail Mary or surely we’re all lost

he’s figured that with certain computer-generated frequencies

he can talk to the titans

but use the wrong frequency and you’ll be responsible for 1,000 San Franciscos 

Coach Clear Eyes Full Heart Tim Taylor vs. Godzilla King of Monsters

it’s the clear gloomy tale of our now

I’m scared sad and my heart beats me awake

there are children assigned to me

the orca talks to the other titans

Mothra and the gang

I’m sitting between a mother and her daughter

they don’t want me to move

I stink and I know it

they’re fresh off an early action prospective visit to U Penn

she wants to be a nurse get going early take all the necessary pre-reqs

she wants to do something real and pragmatic and good 

even at least although

she keeps cutting me off by putting her earbuds back in

she complains about the length of the flight and looks out at the sky

in shades of black and gray

looks out at this special angle of sky we get in airplanes

for 500 to 2,000 dollars and a few 1,000 gallons of super-flammable jet-fuel

I should at least be happy for her

she seems depressed but they all do

she’s at Berkeley High

her mom’s got six NY Times articles printed out thinks Warren’s unelectable

she’s a lawyer

I’m sweating coffee

my cousin was married

he sort of scowls at the world and complains about unions

he says the men working on the highway look lazy

what can’t you do with a giant caterpillar after it cocoons 

Timmy Taylor says something is going to come out bigger and meaner

the Stranger Things girl has convinced a gaggle of the others that humans are a cancer

I don’t have taste for it

my body done deteriorate

brain too

I call it a wound

I hold slides up to the light 

they’re gels of my mother in the Colorado River 

I hold it up like a rich interior thought unspoken unpunctuated 

held up in the brain 

uttered to no one 

I learn to write it down a little less sloppy

the machine gun fire sprayed willy-nilly at the impenetrable husk of the thing

Monster Zero he’s the big bad frozen in miles of ice at the South Pole

my cousin’s a climate denier a genuine anarchist

he says the deer are so easy when they come out into the soybean fields at dawn like that

they walk out dumb and mute

careful not to shatter the frozen earth

maybe everyone on this plane is reading what I’m putting down

like I do maybe sometimes with strangers

let’s see if there’s not at least a little justice here

the teen tells me 30% of her class went to the climate march

the others just wanted to cut and that’s okay

one of the monsters is just a big whale

our nukes and earthquakes awakened the titans 

diary I’m still motivated by teen urges 

even when tasked with corralling teens into some dim 

understanding of the English language

wow I feel the wind and I’m still corny for sunsets

men larger than me lift me above their heads in my dreams

my feet kick weakly 

I turn my fist into a gavel and bang the side of my car

like it’s the law or the future

Jesus Christ Diary what am I Holden Caulfield?

trying to save these kids from the knife edge

I’ll solve this poem with Google

the communists in my twitter feed disapprove of me I just know it

poetry makes nothing happen but what does? the gun? the debate?

Mothra is waking up

this will be a zine

I’ll give it to all the techbros at BART

Monster Zero is a lightning-breathing hydra

the mom next to me says she wants Trump to end

Trump has appointed 25% of the fiduciary she says exasperated

it’s going to get worse 

we will lose more

take action on your depression

be like Godzilla