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When he was king, the Democrats
Saw Newt as all that’s rotten.
Though he’s long gone, they’re making sure
He doesn’t get forgotten.
On every ad, they talk of Newt’s
Disasters and venality.
Yes, Newt can rest assured he’ll have
A certain immortality.
The chair left out in the garden night all winter
Sits waiting for the summer day all night.
The insides of the metal arms are frozen.
Over the house the night sky wheels and turns
All winter long even behind the day.
It is always among sleepers we walk.
We walk in their dreams. None of us
Knows what he is as he walks
In the dream of another. Tell me my name
. Your tongue is blurred, honeyed with error,
Your sleep’s truth murmurs its secret.
Tell me your name. Out at the edge,
Out in the cold, out in the cold
That came into the house in your clothes
The wind’s hands hold onto nothing,
Moaning, over the edge of the cliff
The wind babble unintelligible.
Ben Katchor had been a bit of a cultural phenomenon for nearly a decade before he became a MacArthur fellow–a first for a cartoonist–this summer; is this the beginning of comic-strip artists being recognized as "real" artists?