no one tells the truth
in dreams or represents reality--
only speaking
structural
averages of unknowing
institutions of totalization--
all participate in rotary circles of concentric memory,
nationhood-regurgitate, military, corporatized,
tentacle empowered,
weaponized--
but set apart; they glow the
amber sheen that reflects in each their other's
eyes,
mirror rivers winding towards landing strips marked apart
by runway lights and railroad ties, carried off in
shopping bags emblazoned with the esoteric codes of
boardroom inside gags, parlor games shrouded in cigar smoke,
talk of asian markets and the weary western gaze.
here, the violence of self absorption
winters worship of the crowd; it sustains itself on
the idolatry of ideal power, its lexicon of infantile attachment
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