March 7, 2016
they came at last, for the covens of puerperal women
deemed as having the most potential
to what we had loosened upon us
to being durable batteries
as soon as caught
they were sent immediately to biological interface
processing and the rest of us were given over to this fully
realized investment strategy, open every Pandora's box...
little egg(s) and swimmer-ette(s)
did you get-to-tag-me yet
on the way in or was it my daily
bread, vitamin, prayer
or pretense sequence re-logic-king...
drink up, quickly, I heard a knock...
my fingers smell like reached into forbidden caught then
reached into again ruinous pleasured savory slippery bits
tied to the exhales...
dream stop world is too fast for me
fucking in olympic-ized competitive form subtle clothes
we wear gathered to lone asking, are we raw war
we are echoes of something
night sky warm billowy angers
and the chase of bliss maybe(s)...
or are we all wrong path-ing-it
teeming in hot writhing bullshit
while we feel almost universally
as soon as were born
an instinctive language-less deep down
that says oops, there are too many of us
shit, might as well have fun while I'm here...
ultimately there must be
some rubber band fabric tear
some snap bursting tumult
of an equalization process
that involves pain, sacrifice
and saving fruit trees...
mouth to hand ratio balance
for simple elegant thrive
to a tuned complexity
of ritual orchestral woven harmony
and invention in a natural world
I suppose is elusive,
why I chose to live
away from those
who make too much sense...
the turning to machines
for our own good is coming
stupid human tricks
fed many fevers
this poem needs some air...
I don't want you to write me anyway...
yeah poem, go sit on hot coals
wishing water nearby
while none be found...
fuck you Edward...
fuck you poem...
Edward, you said air as if you wanted the stink off me...
poem, I only wanted an excuse for a cigarette...
we'll both crawl back
knees, palms and
forehead down then