the people arguing
and the people asleep on benches
and some saw it coming
and thought they could fix things or hide
maybe escape
Fuck the rich. They are the assholes of power.
An asshole is an asshole and not a sword.
Their tight grip on our destiny is dissolving.
Going for glory ain’t as easy
as it used to be, back when
Evel Kneivel broke his bones
for you, thrilling your hides
with goosepimples of death
From Clinton Community Garden
to South Street—I put up
revolutionary green propaganda:
SAVE THE GARDENS on fences.
Press flesh, spreading the word.
as the cloud that seemed out of focus separates into a couple
thousand gulls hiding their yellow beaks under a wing,
constantly spiraling without a visual center,
knowing waters not a mirror
Invent and invent to make ourselves
guffaw, then we concocted a new
kind of government, a grief project,
How she decants herself, abandoning the priests’ pressing: the whirl of soft yellow petals opening leaves me breathless, form refusing limit. I clip the spent blossoms with shears, collecting their orange hips in an enameled bowl. All the stories are old, syllabaries of lauds told.
I am honestly more interested in the vivid life of the
village than in the erotic sculpture – at a certain
point however, in a hotel room, my hair catches fire.
Stevedore smarts
as exodoi tar
as sufficed ocean
named Eu(-)
gratis wolf fugue tacit poem, one
glebe rep udder burden won, Eros
When people give poetry a bad name :
disjointed words from actions inane,
when people give poetry a bad name!
The world was wild, wicked, vile
And though complicit was he
In this cavalcade of carnage
He slumbered soundly on
Free of any guilt.
After they’d had at the indigenous,
they set upon the endogenous.
They offered never-before-seen chemistry
with a will unbridled by consequences.
I was picturing the perfect hammock as an antidote to the mercurial endowment of the speaker’s eyes that skittered toward targets of greed. I saw firm feeling held between strong trees.
ready to entertain kidneys and liver,
that’s
our girl. some days
she goes by Sunny.
Diego trudged over and stood still below
the boy, now the king of that hill.
Diego began to make faces for the boy.
And the boy became giddy, so much lighter.
Even forgetful, perhaps.
sam wanted to know why i’d bitten
the hands off of all of my action figures
so that they couldn’t hold lightsabers and guns
if not for those children
playing war games
tearing off tentacles and petals
rehearsing explosions
memorizing marches
I shuffle the deck
and the world lays flat.
The bluer the sky the darker
astronomy becomes.
Channel Five flashes footage of my house
The newscaster’s tone not quite as condemning
as the word NIMBYs he keeps repeating
Referring to us who object to the bill
that wrote a half-way house for recovering drug addicts
Tomorrow Pasternak dies
in Peredelkino, where on his grave
we spent our youth
reciting "August,"
surrounded by quiet men in dark suits ––
they almost liked the lines.
a big black savage dog
is chained to the axle
of a rusty Ford
in the overgrown front lawn
of a dilapidated house
You need to know; you cannot condescend.
Reciprocity delineates
the limits you can test. Remove the mask.
Make yourself what love obliterates.
Recall with startling clarity,
the hue of a private tattoo.
I almost spelled your name again,
fingers tracing foreign flesh.
Your mother performed
Absence so you do not know
Limits to desire
Whenever you face the loss
Of dolphins a void hammers
The messenger burned out and crashed.
Once a quick-silver bullet
Screaming into the sky,
“Listen to me! I have so much to tell you!”
Hummingbirds emanate from a mirage's radiant haze now.
Tornadoes vanish on the glowing horizon comets graze now.
I fake solemnity and self-negation, finish my meal.
Mosquito swarm about my face, sweat beads on
my brow. Emptiness was more fun to write about
before navigating the corridors of cancer wards, orderlies
Admit the truth
open the window
goodbye to houses and hello to farms
this is the way things are
out in the world
Stop that crap! We built this country
And made it what it is, great again,
After losing the topnotch place
With our kindness and indulgence;
It is our country now, and our home!
a beautiful woman among the throngs
removed her dress and began to
march naked, cutting through the
thick crowd on the sidewalk like
a rapier, everyone moving aside
one time he said men will use
kite strings to decapitate other men
riding motorcycles
no, you’re fucking with me but it is
possible invisible strings can slice clean
In my death I meander through mirrors that reflect the void of my face. My eyes dissolve into black holes that contain multitudes of nothing.
Upon the scrotum's fell evacuation
the musculature normally declines--
or so the common wisdom of our time
lets one (that would be me) anticipate.
But here I feel a pair of muscles thrive
on my castrated travel-partner's sides:
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