Make America Drone Again by Ian Frederick Caton

O hail
the mighty OM
of meditation

Bearded men
in robes chanting

Sitting circular
legs crossed	and staring
at the flame of a candle
as it
dances on its wick

Make America Drone Again

O hail
the mighty drone
of reverberation

As the OM
circulates in the hollows
across this nation

In the chest-cavity
through the lungs, the caverns
of the mouth
OM begins in the mind
to the heart, travels north to south

Make America Drone Again

Open fly the windows
let the wind blow and howl
screaming through the gorge

Make America Drone Again

This drone
is a natural thing
a waterfall 

And when the creek
overflows will you drive out
to visit?

Slowly, methodically
careful through the ice
and snow

Listen to your tires
as they spin
and they whirr

When the creek overflows
will you drive through the snow to visit?

Will you drive out to save your cat?
And your dog?

And when the creek overflows
and the bridge collapses will you find another route
to get to me?

Or will you strap on snowshoes
and trudge through the powder
break through the ice to come to me?

Bring me a mulled cider—
a cask of warm spiced apple cider
to glow in our spirit

When the river is overcome with salmon
swimming upstream for their lives

Sewing their eggs with their egos
milky white cream

Filters through the stream
ice cold sex, will you come to me then
beat a path through barriers of slush

Listening to your footsteps as you
clomp clomp clomp through yuck and freeze
listen to the drone of work

The drone of effort, the drone of
one footstep in front of the other, and repeat—
over and over

Repeat, step, repeat
step, repeat, step, will you
come to me then?

Make America Drone Again 

America drones with the swelter of heat
the frigid of cold, the grinding of jackhammers and cashregisters
closing, glass towers of success

America drones with the pounding of nails
the sawing of boards, and brittle dry bones
buried deep and out of sight

Sinews and guts, kidneys and liver
arteries stretched
across the Columbia river

O drone, as droplets fall
one by one dripping down the length
of an icicle

Gradually increasing its size
reflecting the starlight to visions
of nebulas and further galaxies

Distant		aquatic
out beyond us
lightyears away

The drone of piano string
plucked against the night with a
nylon tipped drumstick

Mysterious, vibrating
against the atmosphere, a call to be responded
by gulls
far off out at sea

Flying with the moonlight
reflecting off their wings, soaring
up and down with vibrations
motion and pitch
arching into the ozone

Make America Drone Again

IAN FREDERICK CATON lives in Vancouver WA, which most certainly is not Portland. He grew up in East San Jose in the 80’s and started his first rock band when he was 12. Everything he writes with the very rare exception being some pieces about his Mother, and even some of those as well, are about music in one way or another. His mother was his first Junior Choir director, and now he too by a series of rational events has become the choir director at his church. He also has a Bandcamp page where he creates drones and noise.

© Maximus Magazine 2022

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