Monument

Souls for centuries, they

tower to the sun upon the step

stones of conquered

civilizations.

Ravine

We throw it into the ravine

chicken shit cat shit lawn clippings

crosses ashes things that fester from

generation to generation, a red rusted

tractor, bones from famines past, bones

like taxes and tyranny.


The wind blows through here.

It purifies.

Jellyfish submarines

When the leftovers of focus

dwindle, we expire. City by city the lights

are consumed by longitudes and deluged

by distractions. Speak into your hand

with the one that severs. Each of us who

go to the mega cities, like lampposts seen

from the troposphere, like jellyfish submarines

who stumble through airport security with disposed

smiles and authorized liquids, we let down our

sails and drift through a revolving

door of lovers and loyalty cards.

Strawberry samba

Portuguese man o' war
strawberry you have enough
satellites and karaoke machines to swoon

us in our sofas. You are a current of stings
poisoning the ages with high definition
reality behind the periscopes of cultural

revolution, bombing us from the periphery of focus
toward the puppet shadows of passing time. Lights
flicker through the film house. They eclipse into a golden

mean. And there is a samba from the strawberry
constellation where row boats drift through oval
windows into the accordion fires of the hinter

lands. She sings on her side cranking a broken turn
box as we dance like Russian dolls, one inside
another, through the mannequin

body of a thousand drawers.

Nature incorporated

Technology will enslave humanity when reproducing
becomes a clinical procedure, when the natural family
has been separated into it's nuclear parts, and all
references to mother and father have been purged

from the rhetoric of education.

Elect man as they enemy of the Earth and he will proudly
walk into subjugation.

Plato, this is your world.

The architecture of generations has brained us with your corner
stone. I have an objection. Nature is not perfected but justice
marooned when the seeds of life are lawfully incorporated,

when the domesticated have become automated and finally
homogenized.

In Utopia there not peace but lasting death.

Green

I thought I would never
long for the days of barcodes and social
security numbers; it was such an innocent

time. Living came naturally; we lived for one
another. I was clothed in reflections, the
lure of years with it's celebrities and molotov
cocktails fashioned from the sacred
geometry of bubbles and revolutionary

Earth movements.

Our thoughts were trolled by
insurance companies and meter maids. The hello
thank you easy credit handshake

was slow deadly and neutral.

Given a choice of four answers
for every question including N/A. I'd
choose N/A N/A N/A every time
but it was no use.

The lights were fluorescent

dull and green.

Fence Door

If this moment were a tunnel I would shape it into a horn
each note a pole shift in minute time
like the gold in peripheral heat lightening
revealing the wreckage of the most distant
and obtuse recordings of Beethoven you ever heard.

For every color gleaned from ancient poetry
there is a bell tower and stained glass chapel
built on an old angry hill

where the vengeful Gods of the old testament
have their symbols and endless
empire upon the Earth.

If this moment were the wind in October
it would find a loose fence door to possess with
violent spasms and vent the spleen

of the world through the darkest
holy wood.