Mike Bagwell is a form of mutual antagonism towards the sky, a writer, and software engineer in Philly. His work appears in Action Spectacle, ITERANT, Sprung Formal, Heavy Feather, HAD, Bodega, Okay Donkey, and others. He is the author of A Collision of Soul in Midair (Bottlecap), Or Else They Are Trees (El Aleph), and micros from Ghost City and Rinky Dink. Find him at mikebagwell.me, @low_gh0st, or playing dragons with his daughters.︎
01. All Souls
The baptism water
was a little soy saucy
and burned in my eyelashes.
One miracle is standing
but it’s hard to tell.
Could be the fake lighting,
or the running jokes about
office environs or the eternity
of verbs.
One of my first gods told me
We don't allow nudity
in the playground. He had long hair
pulled back into a ponytail
and a motorcycle
where I burnt my knee
into a black crab.
Coming to terms with grief,
are we Mr. Kolaptō? Did they see you
for who you are? St. Peter with his eye
sockets trailing smoke through the night,
letting rain trickle to the back
of his throat.
In this one, we don't make it,
we let him walk into light,
we lose and
we accept loss.
︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎
02. On Bodies
The body as spectacle. The body
as a means to an end. The end
as a means for spectacle.
The means of our bodies, all.
The spectacle of needs. The body
as body. The spectacle as body.
The needs of spectacle as a means
for the body. The body as an end
in itself, for itself. The self as a body
of means. The spectacle of self as a body.
The spectacle of spectacles becoming-body.
The body’s need of spectacle to sustain
the self. Sustenance as a means of spectacle.
The body as sustained need. The end
of sustenance as a means. The spectacle
of ends as a body. The mean of spectacle
as an end. The mean of means
as a body. The body as a self.
The baptism water
was a little soy saucy
and burned in my eyelashes.
One miracle is standing
but it’s hard to tell.
Could be the fake lighting,
or the running jokes about
office environs or the eternity
of verbs.
One of my first gods told me
We don't allow nudity
in the playground. He had long hair
pulled back into a ponytail
and a motorcycle
where I burnt my knee
into a black crab.
Coming to terms with grief,
are we Mr. Kolaptō? Did they see you
for who you are? St. Peter with his eye
sockets trailing smoke through the night,
letting rain trickle to the back
of his throat.
In this one, we don't make it,
we let him walk into light,
we lose and
we accept loss.
︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎
02. On Bodies
The body as spectacle. The body
as a means to an end. The end
as a means for spectacle.
The means of our bodies, all.
The spectacle of needs. The body
as body. The spectacle as body.
The needs of spectacle as a means
for the body. The body as an end
in itself, for itself. The self as a body
of means. The spectacle of self as a body.
The spectacle of spectacles becoming-body.
The body’s need of spectacle to sustain
the self. Sustenance as a means of spectacle.
The body as sustained need. The end
of sustenance as a means. The spectacle
of ends as a body. The mean of spectacle
as an end. The mean of means
as a body. The body as a self.
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