Bunkum Poem by Julia Luber

I haven't been part of something for a very long time.
I have been in hiding, kind of: managing a secret, a terrifying one.
Actually, I'm not managing the secret. I'm managing that nobody
wants to help me do anything about it. It makes me feel like I am
shoting at walls, which I suppose is why I am so into writing poetry
lately.And somehow connecting regardless if it is not about that
irksome, aggravating 'secret.'
And aggravating and irksome are a tremendous improvement over
pure fear, shock, and terror. Those three, fear, shock, and terror
are the most unpleasant states of consciousness. I won't even call
them emotions. Because they are not. They are specifically NOT
empotions. They have to do with NOT feeling, not connecting, not
weaving in and out of a conversation. Inertia, standstills, psychological
paralysis. Fear, Shock and Terror. Awful perspective on life.
But that happens sometimes. Somebody sees something, knows
something, saw something, knew something- -that really did not
behoove their emotional wealth nor pleasure. Work, work- on those
brain cells of the mind. Hard work to Alert, Alert. Alert.
Paul Revere score through the town in what way he did.
Did it ever really happen the way that the cartoons show that it did?
You have seen a cartoon of Paul Revere freaking through the town haven't you?
This one's dirty. This one here, look over here. This one's a dirty one.
Very very. I don't want to use the word again. I don't want to repeat the instance
again. I want out of this consciousness locked in an instance of crime.
I want out of this nightmare. The world is so much more than a bullet.
Regardless of where it flies, the world, life, living, it's all so much more than a bullet.
But some people really do end that way. They don't get to pass away peacefully, dreaming,
reflecting, loving, remembering, touching. They die instantaneously. There is no good bye.

I suppose deaths like that permeate the sense and sensibility of certain things.
Hard to know exactly what. Let's try: a miscreant.
Let's try all the words we are shy of.
Look up bunkum. It's a word you should know the meaning of these days.
Fear festivals. Extorted and encouraged pandemonium.
It makes them feel powerful. Believe me. To be able to well up anarchy.
That is what makes them feel important.

Okay, so we got from Fear, Shock, and terror to……bunkum!
We're doing well; let's give ourselves a pat on the back.