Sixteenth Mythorealist Communiqué: THE ASSASSINATED POET

sabato 10 gennaio 2026

 

Monstrous news from the United States of America: an American poet, Renée Nicole Macklin, was brutally butchered by anti-immigration militias set up by Trump. As usual, television and newspapers—CNN in this case—neutralize the tragic scope of the event: she is described as a loving mother who “loved to sing and write poetry.”

The loving mother wrote this:

“On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs”

i want back my rocking chairs,

solipsist sunsets,

& coastal jungle sounds that are tercets from cicadas and pentameter from the hairy legs of cockroaches.

i’ve donated bibles to thrift stores

(mashed them in plastic trash bags with an acidic himalayan salt lamp—the post-baptism bibles, the ones plucked from street corners from the meaty hands of zealots, the dumbed-down, easy-to-read, parasitic kind):

 remember more the slick rubber smell of high gloss biology textbook pictures; they burned the hairs inside my nostrils,

& salt & ink that rubbed off on my palms.

under clippings of the moon at two forty five AM I study&repeat

               ribosom

 endoplasmic—

               lactic acid

               stamen

 at the IHOP on the corner of powers and stetson hills—

 i repeated & scribbled until it picked its way & stagnated somewhere i can’t point to anymore, maybe my gut—

maybe there in-between my pancreas & large intestine is the piddly brook of my soul.

 it’s the ruler by which i reduce all things now; hard-edged & splintering from knowledge that used to sit, a cloth against fevered forehead.

can i let them both be? this fickle faith and this college science that heckles from the back of the classroom

  now i can’t believe—

               that the bible and qur’an and bhagavad gita are sliding long hairs behind my ear like mom used to & exhaling from their mouths “make room for wonder”—

all my understanding dribbles down the chin onto the chest & is summarized as:

life is merely

to ovum and sperm

and where those two meet

and how often and how well

and what dies there.
***

Let everyone draw their own conclusions. For us mythorealists, it is clear: the masks come off in this ballet of drunken zombies and these masks are singing:  "The United States of America, a country of democracy and freedom, a perfect model for the world".

Ettore Fobo and The Mythorealist Laboratory