July 11, 2012

poem 230 of a poem a day for 2012

our house hardly holds anything, anymore

at the edge of the great
western purge, we are
pouring urges
whoring our bones
storing our scratches
clawing our clocks from the wind
we are scattering intentions
we don’t mention love
because it hurts entering and exiting
so we go vampire or zombie
and we only have to worry
about eating flesh or
drinking a soul’s motored oil slag
it’s iron skim thin topped melting pot
it’s thick walled fire
that always seems to be
burning at the beck and call
of this, most vital
of resource allocations

there are more flags here
more guns here
more ways to say here
that you outside here
under-utilize your own Eden
so we are co-opting it
for the greater good
of our own bank accounts
go fuck yourself sir and ma’am
with your foreign languages
you’ll learn to love
to eat spam
with recycled wood pulp
mashed to taste
just like potatoes

and just in time for the Christmas season
here in the shelled cities
that used to have spirit
we will be featuring soy-lent green
with a full media blitz
that will have you all
in an awe with
the wondrous fun of forming it
into anything or anyone
you wish to eat

so trim the table and
bake the cakes
don’t mind that it hasn’t
snowed in a few years
we have other white powders and pills
to make you cold or sweaty or ready
to be forgetting the comforts
of a home in America
is sometimes a prison with blinders on

1/20th or so of the world’s population
we consume as a matter
of imperial ignorance
1/5th or more of what’s in
the world stores
so don’t tell me
you are too thin
or too wise not want to be
processed as food someday yourself
brothers and sisters
get your asses off the shelf
and into the fattening part
of letting go of any reason
to care about someone
outside you eating their way in


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