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Tuesday, May 3, 2022

The Repeal of Roe v Wade

Our fucked-up nation isn’t free.

The model savior’s birth

has symbolic value to some men.

For evenso whereas yes

a man deserves death

torture even, prison, or damnation.

The fetus is pure. The Ultramessiah

Messiah before there was a messiah.

The fetus is the protoman. almost half sperm

half egg. The subatomic Big Bang aborted by the city

just like Jefferson warned

and wasted like criminals

In the eyes of Jesus

I believe all god’s children

were happier as slaves. Praise Jesus

and take the most wild capricious life.

The outlaw childgod spawned by incest

Beneath a tornado shaped like Grandmother.

As it was, My Jehovah

whose only begotten son

came to Earth in Mary’s belly. Your belly.

sluts and the poor would bodily

dismember, strangle.

Strangle the rapist’s baby. What a crime.

For in the fascist world

miscarriage is a sign.

All ya can do is pray

is the Sunday spirit

Eve-given, gasoline headcase

talking local football

at the roadside BBQ.

Ask Joseph

if he said no to God

who enters unwillingly and gives way to eternal praise. Fuck.

The sacramental ova

was meant to pump life

and now there is a court to prove it


Tuesday, July 27, 2021

Hippo Wreck

 

Sam drove his white van

through the obsidian honeycomb semiconductor

better known as The Cliff of Life.

Stop deconstructing! Now is a time to build! You damn shoegazers!

 

When Sam crashed into a glass sinkhole

his hippo was left standing on its nose.

My father wondered What in the samhill?

(Newspapers)!

 

How many phone numbers on the bathroom stalls

did it take me to realize they always summed the same

no matter how I rearranged them.

 

Everyone was “closed for the virus”

or pontificating in a Lamborghini

that men reelect the government is freaking out.

Good. An ahm four that. [spit].

 

But now the crashed hippo means more than that jazz.

I tried all night to find someone

as I stared from my loft at six different skylines

(Sydney Singapore Shanghai Barcelona San Francisco Dubai)

 

The black market had options.

Many advocated zoos.

The only guy open was named Ramesh

.His Moneyball said Mumbai.

 

I called Ramesh

(Hello moon like a tropical fish).

and surfed the night on a banana.

Ramesh was inexperienced

but known for success with antelopes

so why the hell not?

Matters of the everpresent procreative desire

demanded someone rugged

determined confident blue-skinned and silent.

 

Sam died of guilt in a romantic spotlight on the quad.

There were signs of the sky growing in his body.

Prospects for souls were bright as the sun

the president’s bronzer

made it seem like he worshipped by imitating.

 

Ramesh freed the hippo that night.

Sam gave up too early.

We are near the end of our terrible experiment.

Sunday, November 8, 2020

Supermodelblues

12345677216120513151919 

 This is one of many 
numbers that haunt me. 
The number by which god calls me.

My imbroglios inflame your imagination; hence
original despite the serial number 
I vacuum in my underwear 
and pretend the artworks tilted 
odd angles by earthquakes 
decided long ago 
mean something to me.

I forget things easily. Sorry 
if I forgive myself  
for ghosting you last week 
but you still asked me here to pose

with desertification and empty oceans 
war plutocracy rape fantasy success 
and my lips are like Yeah 
I am your goddess and I will give you 
some of what you need. 
Just don't stare longer than I silently ask.

From one stage set to the next 
my mind moves so fast 
there is no reason to remember anything you ever said 
because this life is my garden  
and each day is lovelier than tomorrow.

This is my portfolio. Did I tell you I like Carraba's? 
Life rolls like the controversial code words 
of end-stage principalities 
in which I serve as subject of my own backdrop 
in a townhouse by the airport

all combined to form the reality in which I fling 
in a look made for fun 
and verse as useless as it is unique like 
an individual butterfly or the dress a boutique 
made for me especially but more so
unable to contain when the MVP 
crosses like a black cat, my body.

This is why my smile is as it is. Do you like it?
My life does not depend on the answer 
but I wonder nonetheless. 
---------------------------------------------

Sometimes everything reminds me of something else

like every day of what I want to be 
but because my life is my garden 
there is no reason to settle   
on a single day of the collection.

A businesswoman of Monaco, 1953. 
Cleopatra no doubt. Christ on the stake. 
A lime-green Lamborghini 
driving through sky-high slices  
of coconut cake. 
Through nights a zebra mask defines me as I peek at magazines 
eating fast food at the end of the all-night pharmacy.

The hardest moons gave me this
and I can't complain about the way time has warped me. 
Even the predator hiss-- is that not the way of Eve  
my friend my idol my love? 

It is no mistake I carry her apples as breasts.
And her face but no memory 
except a number I remember. 

It begins with 123.

Saturday, August 8, 2020

Libertalia

tew

Sad matter wandering
one horn of existence 
taken from creation
mistaken like an orange 
for the blue sea

all wonder even when we endure to whom?
Life upon the level
knows soon our masters 
will be goat on the skewer
despite our own republic-- 
bliss and lemurs
stealing our powder 
learning to count
by rubies divided 
on the sands of Isle-St-Marie.

No one wants to end up truly liberated do they? 
A lunatic shitting freely in the street?
Why then do these Men 
exist in time?
Why do they rule my time? O
the times. I forget the times.

Which sounds better as
J’oublie le fois.


plantain

When a curse and a joke express myself better
than symbols that signify a life with a paycheck
a struggle for daycare
a carousel of birthdays
sad days not there before, therefore
I attain the level.

Pay no attention to the children lick their lips
as New Delights wonder Are you a delicacy too?
I take the king's ships. Am I not King?

Yes? For awhile?

And my castle though crude
does it not grow men thick as baobab
and endless wives new to their freedom?

The moats are filled with ancient suicides dogs
pterodactyls millionaires
idiots warriors. Shamen.

A man of fortune seeks his fortune here.
Such people jig in the hanging gardens.

Sails crack and the night
dark-deadly maroon/
walls moan with treasure. 
Gold sweats, rosewood bees
make young honey to lick off the hot bank of stone.
By Christ I can taste
the blood in my enemies. 
I chew the bitter glands
of evil people humbled in the shade.

Your envy is always best as condiment.
Pursuers silent in the forest. Let me go lightly 

as springbok infatuated with flight.
Lure me back against the paradise of my soft mind—
on a hot bank of clay
and the need for protection.

Were those flamingos just a burst of beautiful time?
Did Time not appraise your intelligence?
Were men in the hallways not wondering?
Or women not assessing your smirk?
The athletes not assessing your smile
your structure
and marble? Your orchid scared 
in gorgeous panties
clitoris in distress 
rolling like eventual rain
droplet by droplet 
til my my island is no longer private

I asked such questions as commander.

Life is harsh on the level. 
Love, suggested violently
pure as the colors
or the fresh tower tiles
makes an imprint in a man who has not grown old.
I see. In the dark. With special eyes.
Like a long-tongued moth 
dodging bats for the all-night orgy.

Arrival comes by awful means 
on a hot bank of flesh.
Your daughter will be richly rewarded.

Otherwise it's the pistol. Or the navy.

Yes, I am insane because I wanted it—the kingdom.


taylor

Youths could sneak on the sea between two castles
and try strange things before the moon between
the cloudy sky went hyperblue
revealing the latest
flowering nebula.
Lightning repeatedly strikes twice.
More stars squeeze into the darkness 
until you wonder
How is it still dark? 

and luminescent creatures love
blowing ships to the sand 
because they shine on in return.
The kingdom faraway is raucous. 
You can hear freedom like I do—
voices without boundary
and the night’s waves of nutmeg olive, oil, gardenia,
coffee, ocean, pasture the sound of the abacus
deducing us to One
energy not felt before.
Upon ascendance the equivalent of a peacock
disguised as a queen plays her jewels
with long henna hands.

One mood is an eternity
but here the billion deviations
unfold like clockwork wound by minds watered by words 
minted by expression
made aware of god.

Beside a broken nectarine
the last ten children tell their tales.
Your door opens to a face
speaking of The Thing.

You are welcomed by a plant
into the hand of a storm and left dripping 
leaves’ light

What to do with the chameleons is yours.


condent

Every trace of gravity, remove. Every detail is a line
sloping like defiant/sunset/breast.

You'll be my guest in paradise
but I'll drink you to hell
until the daughter of Bourbon comes of age
to pardon my entanglements alisten in hot corners
waves upon the rocks— ships heave, armies of birds
sea lion rebellions. Otherwise it is safe
to relax. To think without guilt. Without history.

Bells ring. I have made it so. Until the gun comes up
and once again we run.
On the level, everything is unprecedented.
Behind a waterfall girls
gather to trade secrets: intimacy, trust
a basket weaved by caring hands.
Yet the youth seeking to be free of ribbons
can disappear and find estrangement
sooner than he feared.

I AM as Providence intended—
to witness warships
hang like buzzards there against the setting ruby
surrounded by tourmaline
placed by tentacles into the moment
and shot when life is over.

I’ll wear the jewels of the sultan tonight.
I will be ultimately home.

england

Tell the shadows what you wish to see
if you can imagine something not already clear
before you ample and apricot.

The heart will feel angels' topaz wings
crossing the portico fade away today.
The fossa howls like a dying man
and deliberate lovers
nurse the soldiers and magicians
who crewed the mutiny.

Beauty spells thirst
for cream of celestial whales.
Vanilla nutmeg honey and cloves.
We drank the richest of behemoths. 
With almonds.

Traitor/travelers with a mug of Madagascar milk
working depleted on the mystery given.
Even if kind and weak. Like me.

What you need and what we have
to offer is far beyond your need.
The apsara blow in some evenings.
The sharks industrious and swift.

The marooned see hope in the distance.


avery

$116 million in gold. No grog. No hatmakers.
Would endless turtle stew
precious gods, silk
and more cardamom than you can imagine
be enough to outlast hunger's cannons?

Not all who join are invited to the division. 
Whatever code you believe
does not apply
to one who steals from Allah.

I do not worry what they say
when smoking in the fans of heavy palms.
Yes, I should have stayed
in the heart of the insane island.
But endangered like the forest
able to appear in time like the chameleon
I answer your monsoon
with new forms of rare escape
and thoughts of home-poisoned reality.

Quartermaster, brute shipwreck
what you might call unscrupulous
merchants who took my last diamond
and did not worry what I'd say
because words have no meaning 
off the level.

Not all who join

are invited to the division.

Choose your ending well 
or you begin where you began.


misson

Meat is sacrificed to us
but we aren’t cruel monsters. Perhaps
no such thing as a monster anymore exists!
The pinions of the watch no longer
count toward Time. Time
is still the sun upon the level
and I die before that changes.
No fucking master
tells me not to drink
and still I can surprise a woman
shoot dead dishonest men
shitting in the street
or strike a flag declaring
a World more Real than New.

I walk susceptible to an ending always.
Even as advertising rolls from lips like magic yes.
Starlight autographs in estrus for an antihero.
But taste reunion with the fruits
grown that year with music we played
to some refined indulgence.

If all is free of worry
we'll crush the time and die beautiful
let billions of chemicals
make pirates wild. 
You are sad and want to know 
Do I matter anymore? 

On the level everything is known
including dead names repeated 
on this island 
on the moons. 

Wednesday, July 1, 2020

June 2020


1.
At the end of yesterday's truisms. 

Hollywood violence. Violent convulsion. Quite honestly 
it would do me good to shut up lately. 

I would but I can’t, man. My mind goes. 
Omaha. Greenwood. Apocalypse Now. 
Kristine Moran. Massive Attack. Dr. Strangelove. 

You talk too much. Absinthe at 10. I want your body.
Hakeem Olajuwon. Aime Cesaire 
Pablo Neruda. Antietam. Crab feast. Grape wasp. 
The rapidly declining desire to survive. 


2. 
Deuteronomy. Aspirin. The dust in bones. 

Chirico. Greenaway. 
Ripe steak on a Saturday night. 

The Choral Fantasy. High Noon. Juneteenth. 
I just learned that’s a thing this year. 


3. 
He’s reading Ulysses. She’s playing Debussy. 
I’m watching nobody. We went to the protest. 

An active mind as told by the smile. 
Josephine Baker. The Nude Maja. Tight plaid pants. 

Death is simply unavoidable. Dan Marino.
Mercan Dede. Spacemen 3. Tetsuro Sawada. 
No I don’t care your race. Rautavaaraa. 


4. 
To be context free--. 
that is a beautiful idea. 

Was it Ahmaud? Was it Rayshard? Eric. Breonna? 
Was it the Confederacy? Was it millions of bad explanhanations?
Told over time like a fake apology>

It was not apples or oranges. 
Gerome. Cleopatra. Sidney Bechet. Babylon. Cherry slice. 
Preet Bharara. Mad Dog Mattis. Tamir Rice. 


5. 
Woke up at 7 PM> too many options before me. 
Potatoes and eggs. No one to ask. La Pointe. 
Downtown Baltimore. Gun victim. Alton Sterling.

Appropriation? My views? My misconceived answers
justified in too much exquisite detail
for a story that must be forgotten to survive

like a winter seed. Waiting for a sun.
Night of the Iguana. Hajime Sorayama. Koyaanisqatsi. 
Those who aspire. Anonymous
forgotten stars. Polanski’s Macbeth. Aya Kato. Atlantis.
Like you, who wonders about reasoning 
when a plague is not mentioned in-textbook 
-
or the greenhouse skies still not shown the lightning.  


6. 
We are beyond biscuits and gravy here.  
On a porch summer green, children with backpacks and pumpkins. 
Matthew W. Moore. Chiho Aoshima.  

Vivaldi constructed my mind. 
I cannot help but the pulse 
allegro. 
The taste of order and my mother’s crisping pies 
less entry to the logician’s anatomy chamber  
and the type of honest clear reflecting pools. 
-
Why does the narcissus bloom?

Whatever the world has shown you. 
I would remind you… 
believe me
it always has abundance more. 
Reveal space torn sum unnamed like so>
Take masculine audible ghost story for granted and decease. 
-
Take better notes. Ask fewer questions.


7.
Stereo MCs. Hobo Humpin Slobo Babe.  
One night of life as a Happy Monday.  
William Holden. 
The 1980s, inconceivable as it seems. 
We were the children in the fairy tale since deconstructed. 
Groovin High. Gang Gang Dance. John Lewis.
-
Good editors. Nameless names.

Nazi brides. Colonial apologies. Heart of Darkness. 
Thunderstorm traitor. Get the fuck off the tornado. 
Artichokes. 
Nunavut. Tierra del Fuego. The Azores. 
Waiting a million years. Just for us. 
Yes, and the taste of blueberries.
-
The Escapist from hell says none of these things.

What else was trueblue love when time fell down?

O my silence. You will be happy to hear it.
Brandywine milkshakes. Honduran cigars.
Slideshow interval.
How wonderful it was unquestioned. 
The delight of Tartini. Bison. Miura.
Wtweal. Floridian orchids. I know you are a Botticelli angel.
-
Good lord I'm sorry I went on this long.


8. 

O I feel my silence comin soon.
Leonard Kwan. Julia Roca. One begins to wonder 
one begins/to wonder 

if he isn't just a bleeping computer of randomized integers.
Well not exactly I mean yeah, whatever. 

Anthony Santander. El Perro del Mar.


9. 

Misery and pain apparently, and XYZ.
I was aware I had been given half a story. 

I would but I can’t, man. My mind goes 
absolutely toward the zeroes I carry  
like the eggs of elephant birds in a windstorm home. 

Moby Dick at Cape Cod. Sister-in-law cocktails. 
Salvador Dali’s autobiography.  

There is still a lot to be said. 

/

10. 

To say it, I would be someone else. 

Blaise Cendrars. Kalidasa. Joey Badass.
A nonwhite woman of contrapuntal cosmoses
deep and forgiving which I will not be.

Tuesday, March 3, 2020

Libertalia


will be goat on the skewer
for we are liberated from laws
and make our own republic
even if we look foolish
killing lemurs
stealing our powder
on the sands of Isle-St-Marie.

No one wants to end up truly
liberated do they?
A lunatic shitting freely in the street?

Why then do these Men
exist in time? Why do they rule
my time? O

the times. I forget the times.
Which sounds better as
J’oublie le fois.


plantain

When my love has moved and no longer my love.
When a curse and a joke
express myself better
than the symbols in my mind
or a life with a paycheck or a struggle for daycare
or a carousel of birthdays
sad days
not there before
therefore
I attain the level.

Pay no attention to the children lick their lips
as New Delights wonder
Are you a delicacy too?
I take the king's ships. Am I not King?
Yes. For awhile?
And my castle though crude
grows men thick as baobab
and endless wives new to their freedom?
And never did a man have better times
than when the jigs I played took air?

The moats are filled with ancients suicides dogs
pterodactyls millionaires idiot
shamen.
A man of fortune
seeks his fortune here.
Such people flourish
in the hanging gardens.

Sails crack and the night
dark-deadly maroon
makes walls moan with treasure.
Gold sweats
and rosewood bees make young honey
to lick off the hot bank of stone.

By Christ I can taste
the blood in my enemies.
I chew the bitter glands
of evil people humbled in the shade.
Enemies silent in the forest.

Let me go lightly
as springbok infatuated with flight.
Lure me back again paradise of my soft mind—
on a hot bank of clay
and the need for my protection.

Were those flamingos just a burst of beautiful time?
Did Time not appraise your intelligence?
Were men in the hallways not wondering?
Or women not assessing your smirk
The athletes not assessing your smile
your structure
and marble? Your orchid scared
in gorgeous panties
a clitoris in distress
rolling like a droplet in a rainstorm
tests me as I try not to see
my castle crumble.

I asked such questions as commander.
Life is harsh on the level.
Love, suggested violently
pure as the colors
or the tower tiles smelling fresh
makes an imprint in a man
like a kiss against the skin
like skin to the spike of a palm
in the palm of a man.

Yes, I am insane because I wanted it—the kingdom.
I see. In the dark. With special eyes.
A long-tongued moth
dodging bats for the all-night orgy.

Arrival comes by awful means
on a hot bank of flesh.

Your daughter will be richly rewarded.
Otherwise it's the pistol. 
Or the navy.



taylor

Youths could sneak
on the sea between two castles
and try strange things
before the moon between  
the parting cloudy sky turned hyperblue
and showed us the newest
flowering nebula.

Lightning repeatedly strikes twice.
More stars squeeze their light
into the darkness
til you wonder
How is it still dark?
and bioluminescent creatures love
blowing ships toward terrain
The kingdom faraway is raucous.
You can hear freedom like I do—
voices without boundary
and the night’s waves of nutmeg
olive, oil, gardenia, coffee, ocean, pasture
an energy not felt before. 

Upon ascendance
the equivalent of a peacock
disguised as a queen
plays her jewels with long henna hands.
One mood is an eternity
but here the billion deviations
unfold like clockwork wound by minds
watered by words
minted by expression
made aware of god.

Beside a broken nectarine
the last ten children tell their tales.
Your door opens to a face
speaking of The Thing.

You are welcomed by a plant
into the hand of a storm
and left dripping leaves’ light.



condent

Every trace of gravity, remove.
Every detail has become a line
sloping like defiant/sunset/breast.

You'll be my guest in paradise
but I'll drink you to hell til then

til the daughter of Bourbon Island
comes of age to pardon me
for entanglements of humanity
listen in hot corners
listen, waves upon the rocks—
outside there is only peace
and it is safe to relax my love
to think without guilt. Without history.
Bells ring. I have made it so.
Until the guns come, then we run.

On the level, everything is unprecedented.
Behind a waterfall
girls gather to trade secrets. Intimacy, trust
make a basket weaved of caring hands.
Yet the youth seeking to be cut free
of his ribbons can disappear
and find estrangement sooner than he feared.

Yes, here one is rewarded
easily as your test has been hard.
I AM
as Providence intended—
warships hang like buzzards. Sunset
like a ruby on seas of tourmaline
placed by tentacles into the moment
and shot when my life is over.

I’ll wear the jewels of the sultan tonight.
And we’ll return home when we can.


england

Tell the shadows what you wish to see
if you can imagine something
not already clear before you
ample and apricot.

The heart will feel angels' topaz wings 
crossing the portico
bulge with fresh blood. 

The fossa howls out like a dying man.
Enormous dreams 
nurse the soldiers 
and magicians in the crew.
Beauty spells thirst with milk
from the cream of celestial whales. 
God bless those traitors.

The traveler exhausted 
drinks the mystery he is given.
Even if kind
and weak. 

What you need and what we have 
to offer is far beyond your need.

The apsara blow in some evenings.
The sharks industrious and swift.

The marooned see hope in the distance.




avery

$116,000,000 in gold.
Nowhere to spend it.
Yet, endless turtle stew
precious gods, the Mogul's silk
enslaved slave traders
pour in upon us
between the fans of heavy palms.

I disappeared into the jungle end of story. 
My sliver of the world is still sane
but endangered like the forest
we lurk, still here
able to appear
in time like the chameleon.

I answer your monsoon
with new forms
of rare escape. Centurion

brute shipwreck, I indulged
in my woman with a little laugh
and well-crafted commentary
extended belly and tight thighs.

She smells of moss and talcum.
She will do things you dare
like play with wild ponies
and understand
love above the level.
She knows prey is all spirit.
She is your partner tonight.

That’s all I miss of what I had.



misson

Meat is sacrificed to us
but we aren’t cruel monsters.
There is no such thing as a monster anymore!

The pinions of the watch no longer 
count toward time.
We are free on the level 
and will die if that's to change.
No fucking master
tells me not to drink
and still I can surprise a woman
shoot dead a dishonest man
shitting in the street
or strike a flag declaring 
for my men at least
a World more Real than New.

I walk susceptible to an ending always.
Even as advertising rolls from lips like magic yes.
Starlight autographs in estrus for an antihero. 
But taste reunion with the fruits
that grew that year
the music we played
the love we made. 

If all is free of worry, beautiful we die.
So crush the time
let billions of chemicals
make pirates wild.

You are sad and want to know Do I matter anymore? 

On the level everything is known
including the forgotten names
on this island in existence.