Sunday, June 30, 2013

Well-Behaved Fascists

Sit in my chair
and carry your ears to the
table leg of the seat on
the white-topped mountain
on the 7 hills of my birth,

they're calling down
the winter spell, the
one remaining thought,
the visceral truth
buried in the gut of the

cast your eyes
downward children
cover your ears  in
the cowering corner of
your birth, I'll make
everything seem okay,

I am your mother father
sister brother uncle aunt teacher
discipline discourse religion
government brain,
I am looking out for you,

I will make the right decisions
I assume your consent
I will write the history
I will spin the wars
I assume the responsibility
I will consume the sun

I am your one and only

worship me with freedom
and belonging,

eat from my open hand
spread my gospel with guns
and greens,

I am your one and only

so very very well-behaved.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

to my cellophane which was blue

You've got cat memes
running around in your head
they're there in bold white letters
walking on the fiber optic high wire
toward every house on the block
that's the whole street of the world
it's a balancing act in the abstract,
a respect,

woe for my age
woe for I am aging
woe and woe and I am gone
to speak of empty things

A blue sky
a blue ocean
a blue thought
a blue grave

blank screens are graceful
personified in the culture gap
mind over mind under money

pay the rent


day          month          year


for the burial plot the funeral pyre
the insurance card the right to expire

woe is my age
woe for the aging
go and go and I am here
staying up for the after-burn
a plot for the reckoning

a newly cemented age.

Friday, June 21, 2013

A tables down

I see the nanites
on your breath
     reeling off the facts
     like a player piano

record on repeat
advancing the cause of truth

     boxing the KILLED
     boxing the CAPTURED

cherishing the take
the looks on the the tv face

     interrogating the truth.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013


mercy mercy mercy mercy
Montgomery park is big red
San serif signing
without trees or
                    greens only visible
                    in the steel sky of

In Baltimore the word moans outward

follow blinking polka dot arrows.
paved veins.
re-purposed arteries.
coal burnt hearts.
find the mark to stab it deep.

the south
bleeds black
tarry blood
from its
many wounds

I vomit,
            from the stench,
the ground
kisses my feet.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

For your own safety

for your own safety
we'll lock this door up tight,
security guard swinging night stick
and sheriff stetson walking past the two way
mirror gig, making sure they're acting alright,
s/he's just doing his job
surveying the meek for the good
of all those (every one of us (with $)) who
can't protect themselves,
we're just trying to get what's natural
that green abstract soul;

S/he comes to check on me
when the sun goes down
locks my doors
after primetime tight, tucks me in with the curfew
talk and closes my windows down
to the grinding metal sky scrape,
just in case some light comes through
I make sure I got my eye mask on,

Sleep through the rainy
sunday news announcements on
the telestrator dream flatscreen
we'll whip up the truth right quick
for your own safety
believe everything your told,
the window is a vision of the brain
is a reddish nervous system memory,
thought closes at dusk


make that 9pm.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Behind Schedule

Somebody switch out
          this window pane
we're seeing the same
         god damn thing everyday
the same repeat scene
          when they gonna move
these bricks out
          let us breathe in those buried trees?
sure they alter the faces
          every now and then
but the bodies are runnin'
          parallel, powdered abercrombie skin
thinking those American idle thoughts
          when's the wrecking crew
supposed to take all this down?
          I mean
What're they waiting for?

Saturday, June 8, 2013

Lizzie Red Bird

On this date
Friday December 13, 1919
Lizzie Red Bird froze to death
in the darkening winter night,
on the South Dakota plain
a prisoner of the Rosebud Reservation in
the Imperial United States,
she ran away from boarding school
with Annie Coarse Voice,
who lost her feet to the cold
& amputation frost bite survivor
long enough to face the 4-H,
the tea party set, cut your hair
take your seat obedience,

Poor Lizzie, you only wanted
to escape that shapeless shoe-less fantasy,
office of interior design;

the snow still falls from Canada up north
I hear, lines are thickly drawn;

Were you buried, my Lizzie,
with the bars facing up or down?