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

1/20^th or so of the world’s population

we consume as a matter

of imperial ignorance

1/5^th 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

EJR ©