when
they come to take the guns away from the white folks, in America
the
broken doll face harpies will be singing
gourd
sniper Mafioso songs
wading
asymmetric rows
a candy
palace plasma field façade
teeth
marked eroded vines and vortices
in
the ley line newspapers
of
a paused thought day dreaming
head
nodding off to where lonesome
is
a road that seems another paradise
gathered
in the spent battery lust
the
arterial ghost limb articulations
that
find the pathways
with
the least resistance
gesticulations
are mountains
left
to climb habitual crutch product desires
immortal
inaction reined whipped gutter steed
side-walked
street leaned jerked into rages
keying
howls to all fours never taking rain
out
for a drink to watch time slip
in
calendar pages flipping a daze
occasionally
remembering youthful vigor
while
getting older and more fantastical
while
saving up for cosmetic surgery
for
rose colored glass introverted spectacle elevations
I
don't sleep anywhere near regular hours
so
I can’t fall from my dreams
to
a bottom that gravity won't ever go to
a
place where rusty spoons and grapefruit justice
make
me defecate all my worms
that
writhe between ideas
good
and bad
silvered
curriers and deprives
metal plated
service in American election
cycled
meat grinder class warfare by subtle knives
entire
industries of vacancy has got me depressed
dressed
down in bent slow carved rivers
I
am always angry with why
prospecting
gold in bled soul star dust
buckshot
defining, what I can feel
past
instant gratification
something
that universal knowledge and
three
dimensions know might hold my humanity
to
this inhumane world
but
I don’t know where you may find me
as
I am still old tree, old animal
old
empirical thought
limited
by mistrust and
limited
by fire
limited
by abdicating safety
to
occasionally grow old into dignity
and
onto a portrait of designed processes
with
blood worship and saints on the walls
even
the brilliant molecular velvet of night
knows
mankind is kept limited to recycled inefficiencies
even
modernity with its abundant technological wealth
gives
anything still precious, a paper mass and
ordains
a pope in neon on every block
says
convenience is true ascension and
comfort
in coffin literacy is staying alive
long
enough to breed the blinder logic of divisions and
someone's
version of god as being the best and
any
country or peoples not with us and
not
with enough food on the table
are
purely what nature had planned to be
victims
of someone else’s evil symptoms
something
has to be lacking
in
their cries, town to town
in
their faces and races
with
clowns at every creed able to
use
any of us as a lantern light in a jar
at
the near end of the world
so
as this world is pushed and pulled
toward
a constant collapsible art
a
constant accordion gamble
draw
bridging for air to rise again
we
are black hole embassies opening
at
the electrical grid’s slow siphoning
moths
have started echo locating
where
the light might be and
society’s
kneaded fingers will be
knuckle
dragging massaged lingering
into
endless lines that we will moan from
having
become the constant mouthed hunger
and
this will be given away to
what
I suspect will become
an
organ donation farm culture
known
as the last tax deductions
of
the new frontiers
the
pall bearing survivors
will
be poisoned
by
a mythology of quiet
an
exposure to radioactive audio refuse
where
sound proof refuge
is
just another sold ticket to dream
to
ply skills or make money
when
I can’t feel my hands wrap
around
anything that breathes
has
me beaten
without
wings as I seek
a
hidden in the trees
I
can
make
you smile
but,
it is only
a
moment of illusion
for
faded glory
deluged
by photographs
like
pretty paper and glue
montage-ing
short stories
better
than anything
I
lie to myself with
in
every language
I
can
mankind
plants flags
denudes
betterments and
buttresses
the tremble of concrete
against
the weather
face
planting a right now
prevalence
for untrained eyes and
dog
worship
we
dream
of
walking on parade
our
collared junky holidays
are huddled
waiting
for any train
coming
in the station
in
the easy plastic
mechanical
bionics
of a greeting card
emotional purgatory
on the next ride
outside
ourselves
I
am mostly unfit
squeezing
zits by candlelight and
radial
starvation
my
loose tattered strives
against
patterns are holding the ups
close
to the vest as the downs warm bathe
cutting
and bleeding me beyond scabs
to
remind my clothing to watch my skin
to
watch my bloat garden poison in begins
blooming
the scent of never-finishing anything
sabotage
oozing out of me, no reason
no
will, no way I could believe
I
might be able to do that
or
that or even that
because
even if you thought past
this
life and the next, that I might be able
to
endeavor
to
quest
to
be blessed
by
the confidence of community
I’m
afraid you missed the needle freight
because
I know I won’t believe it
as
I keep picking wounds and
keep
licking lapped pools
slowly
tying in, a keep of everything to infection
a
keep of everything to wallow
to
chained thoughts
to
stayed coursed self-degradations
to
slumming low expectations
to
wearing rise as a mask
to
thinning it
to
atomic absolutions
to
mean it so no one can see anything
other
than each curl away from personal glory
into
another story of tumbled weeds
America
is themed parked
outside
the anti-crime lights
away from the fences
of the dark's open windows
woven
with hooded figures and
sleight
of hand, circled salt rituals
pulse
humming tangled meaning
that
are worlds away from a naked
we
sometimes, prefer
I
prefer to be running away
with
my hands full of stain
wet
claying and saying I will
I
will make something
out
of my life, eventually
sometime
later on
when
nothing is on TV
when
only death past irreparable
can
hold tight to me
can
pour sorrow into last gasp
weather
system symphonies
into
last exhale rites
made
in a lucid duking of rebuke
that
is on TV
these
oceans of electro-cathode ray nipples
are
always on and everything on them
points
me into hallucinations
calling
out class shame fugitive skin tags
as
I look sideways, at the storefronts
tucking
myself in against the cold
knowing
the jingles by heart
whistling
them as I do my part to get inside
the
other side of the glass
in
a here and now nation
of
the free looks and home field advantaged
of
brave contractual consumer naivety
of
straw poll weighted manger locks
of
fit for the lottery taxed idiocies
for
we, the kings and queens
have
come to feast for the please and
a
longing for understanding
we
know, how good alone can be
when
purpose lies just beyond why
and
the slow tide of candles and
broken
faces emptying our emotions
tells
us to eat anything and
empty
our courage
to
eat each wound and
empty
its observation
to
eat each day
as
a chased diversion while
emptying life, one word at a time
scrawl
finger clawing
rubbing
raw, jawed stoned
against
certainty and seeking
the
dark corners of our cave walls
our circular
patterns
our artifice of remnant vision
our
bones seeking strings and cages
fleshing
drama from our base intentions
to
a forest of samaras
each
waiting
as
some kind of Hermetic crown
selling
toeholds to hope
that
follows humankind
along
these precipice pathways
under
the dead light of stars and deserts and
the
limestone caverns, turning wheels and clocks
to
basket catch daylight, saving time
pierce shafting, while dialing in
across the tongue rung floor
we each look up and
feel how water might
know
the way home from here
EJR
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