Jewels bounce away. Can’t agree on direction, covered in blood or honey. Capitalisms on the forest undergrowth. Not using enough sunlight. White thieves escape. No light.
Humming kerosene, skeleton head. Closet beauty. Foyer. Fold script in half, act free. Fat goose all spaced out. Liver, Dier. Fois Gras. Freed thought flatlines.
Cage of fire opens slow, then ashes, then dust, then white and black television images become blue-green and grey and move to frozen swamps.
Bark. Passed on to heal. Aspirin. The road to the factory cut off. In this grid the files explode forever. People hopeful without swatting.
The money trees. Stalkmarket. Swarm. Driven spikes. Striped standers suits grabbing. Charming. Graceful. Squatters in the Penthouse, fake bank accounts flush. WASP Nest.
Vertigo going gone. I’m torn… worse than foreplay, worse than no foreplay, smile situated to satisfy all but the self. Dripping down abdomen. Women flipping upstairs.
Backroom exhales, two flutes it seems. Stands. Open the door, looks pretty, manage space between harps and friends and faces and hips. Laugh, rattle, Rahsaan laugh.
Ever gambling with machines, fortune fife, hundreds in a commune. Ex-husband lol explicates his misery. She said I’m a communist. Ready to laugh, she said, I’m whole.
Little beads running to center, full. Camera backpedaling, guests view page, hear the bridge giving underneath, call out to stop but only a shadow speaks. The net tears.
“Legend Of The…” the title is fading and the ultimate noun shakes loose. The meaning in containers, repetition, masses, thinning and widening separations. Gone. Noun.
All the cards drawn, guns out of ammo. Fallow foreground. Austere poetry in public. Everyone walks by staring, some poems smile back, many sink to the bottom of puddles.
Closure. Attitude comes and goes but the requirements stay the same. Capitalism wins the battles. War is permanent. Soldiers at a brothel. Workers in a song. Rushing forever.
Mighty hapless non-subject. Derived of the forgotten. Eurodata drone. The workers are less than human, less than workers. Reproducing themselves.
Nameless toxic chemicals. They sort through the lost things like they’re still there. Conquistadors immediately seized Cusco’s gold ornaments. Hers was ornate.
Melted her into blocks and sent them to the skeletal Spanish empire. Where an addict’s begging confessions mean nothing, or everything boxed in.
Console, forgive, pretend you never step off cue. Listen to J Dilla. Admit, rebel, involve, revel the belly button why you love mother earth. Whole step. Step away a sec.
City enclave of passion. Legs to coral. Morning storms. Off day. A tornado rumored to turn into truth. Imported tears in a hard plastic tube. Land hurricane came.
We couldn’t use power or the fridge or eat hot or cold food. Room temp. frustration that July. Look how advanced we are now.
Model class. The outer classes don’t. Writ here wrought now. She tried to tell the people not to modernize, there’s nothing there but distress and drab buildings and drugs.
Drug developers prefer clear snake shapes Z, S, 2, 5. Not realizing their serpent preference is a latent desire to be more evil.
The scales of justice, libra or lb. or #
weighed out in favor of companies and not mothers.
For Internal Use Only reads the box on the application for revolution. Wonder who that’s for, they wonder. Acrimonious.
For the parsimonious. For the last time, they said, let’s be peaceful, and then the bullets sprayed out of scare barrels. The revolution is not broken but beating, not speaking but joking.
Standing. Miracle crop, marvelous famine. Golden Rice. Poems of a living Patrice Lumumba. Poems of a living Patrice O’Neil. Pamphlets of Cheikh Anta Diop.
After-rain. No light at entrance. Pink sky. Mongolian people shake the human tray, rattle freedom and liberal arts under a black flag. Peace reigns again starting in the steppe.
Geranium, chrysanthemum thrown down on victors, brown soft eyes. Peace workers moving over the walls disregarded.
We will be greeted as liberators, says the millionaire.
School for prisoners of war. What is an orphan when she’s a soldier, at war?
After 500 years. Can’t tell.
Geronimo signing autographs. His people, Apache, fought to the end and were forced onto prison trains to prison death camps in the Southeast. Thousands of the captive peoples were freed
in death. Tuberculosis victims still speak. Thousands of killed Apache people storming down from the hills. All we can do is sit back and relax and freak out, the hills turning black.
I don’t have to be nice to her just because she got cancer, he says. But he, the ex-husband is sick too. Don’t talk about it like that, she says shut up.
Mask. A mask party; a party leader here, full of himself, of gibber. At the top of the stairs, masking gesture, gestate as a joke interviews an echo.
Dearth, absolutely nothing new to say. The same enemies have moved on. History doesn’t repeat itself, it uttered once, nevermore. Power stays powerful.
Press Red Button to eject. There is no red button. Power hand on top of the pad, pays off doodling. Watching people watch people.
Hanged-over. Over-a-cliff culture. A box set to display. Set to free. Free-loading. Labor zones, cussing chapped areas, opening new opportunities for their unborn children.
He pulled in closer. I’m free he whispered… sky parting… groups of bacterial clusters. Venereal Custer, dead blonde, snacking on truism, enemies of the state slip away
The state, the police, and all the European-Americans repatriate, they help to redress the situation by committing mass suicide.
It’s just a joke, she says.
Sweetheart. Candy. Impenetrable land. Looking better there sleeping. They crash from all the refinement. Sugar plantations burned to the ground. Seeds ash.
Most of the time, there’s not even a man home. It runs itself. President feast. 2 chefs come in to check. He’s dead. Ruins itself.
Shut it. Paid to speak. Living, liking, light. Nature can’t be improved. A chemical reaction that infected the white mind to kill brings us out today. Laugh about it now.
English is the Second Language of the USA; 300 indigenous first languages were all distinct, some extinct/murdered, the remaining flourish finish off the revolution. Anglo mutt moot loops.
You buy a helicopter, release killing hench-person. Henchman. Always a man. Try to counterattack from the valley. Nope no hope hopeless.
The mountain that cried, Potosí. In 4 bars the hole of earth filled, while solemn disrepair kept on growing for the children, becoming a cool stream of wonder.
The writings stay vigilant or become lost writings. Harbinger of torn clothing and coughing. Genius starts with women. Harps and chariots.
Cellophane around a single pea. A photo album of individually wrapped cashews and poker chips. The last tired man, full of nothing, exhausted, shattered into the unreal.
The package has been opened. A blendmuseum/Myself when I am real/Nogales/Mono-trip/import life. Dispose. Rolling, rotting sea. Flooding Wet University.
The Mentality of Semen for not-racist white men; becomes something of an artifact, dried and withered on a tar rooftop. High seas lap below.