movement out

after ways have parted like the wings
of a dying fly
fanning
lost dolls in our blankets
who can't say a word,
fresh starts that feel familiar--
only bodies drying out on lines
guided from corner to corner of
a cold promenade--
a funeral process,
new makeshift make-believes moving
determinedly toward a magical ending.

sorry, we don't do "art"

disgrace

i have no use for a new machismo--
even packaged in paint and fishnet lace--
paradigmatically bound
and mesmerized, singing the refrain
in cheerstarved monotony.
ive seen women
and theyre not you--
no pain transcends your vision
but the prescription of self-satisfaction.
another victim of triumphalist imagery
joins the ranks of manicured wolves
marching lockstep to the
famous breeder's beat

inhale

i spend
afternoons in the void,
head dressed down in metaphorical
maps-- charting old sentiments in
new beginnings
and the slow fold of
tired eyes

caw-caw

all old skin has
years listed in it
and knows itself by
a dozen shifting names--
remnants of membership
in esoteric collectives--
stretched out in years
and rendered the same

qualm

i can sing the night's
calm diatribe
sweeping embraces into its
mildewed eyes
common touch prescribed by
embossed capsules smiling
new sentences in
examination
mentioned in brief
collides by subway stations
burned out and faded
forgotten pages

apology--
isn't after all the ever afters whispered mentioned something
neat about my staying here to see it all?
mention me to jesus please
i havent seen another face since i saw credits
in 3D
rolling names of mated hearts
dressed in pearls and sponsored clothes
crawling back to joyous notes
they've gridded in their memories--

media remade love
and me,
reprojected reality
in membership manipulate
reanimate the fantasy

swift run

each of us had not become
another but the only one.
across new fields of insight born in
amber waves and orange mornings;
memory had separated us into compartments
made and trenched in battle--
one and all--
ignorant of the grammar
of war,
and titled men in our
minds in failure
whispering bold new
sailors and blue waves.
hold to me old habits
represented and played--
new standards known
and learned, situated
in memoirs concentrated and
contrary to divisions of ideology
conjuring the fronts between
intellectual labor and the
workhorse elite

order

arrogance begins
on a small scale ladder
leading up the side of the world
without swaying in the wind
and from every corner meeting's
unquestioned answers
there's inconvenience disregarded,
the whole of the self in veil

braid

tomorrow remains my representation
upset or unstomached--
enemy of the state miranda written
huey newton--
german
light infantry seized baptized
and preached.
representation--
holodecking made easybake,
interpreted by memory,
heard in words and
replayed in cemetaries with
internal narration like
john madden, etched out
onscreen,
arrows and circles.
keep talking, we know.
brain surgery
exists
and the streets litter
with teeth and bottles.

entrance begins the boundary;
interspecies etiquette
demands it. i wasn't born
without body, but i shuffle the rain
of knives slowly around in my thoughts
and sharpen wind into
phrases and noise.
absence since has made money fast,
and opportunity to
blow through implied regrets
with matching smiles,
mutual acknowledgment.
maladies to remedy
i'm dying to know.

empire finality has a
tight grip on her mind
and absolute quality
has her obsession.
in identity she finds a dream,
unfulfilled materially,
and germinating minute processes
under the careful attention
of freudian authority
and trusted institutions.
media-driven and consumptive,
immaculate has met
its opposite; now,
wintered post-adolescent
adjustment and faced
with competing losses,
we observe ourselves separate
and calculate infinity.

contemporary mvmnt

i'm sick of the taste of batteries
and morning afternoons.
too many jumping contests.
laughs out of boredom.
writing lists to write lists.
shifting faces like new diseases.
nights in flux, denial (really) from day to day.
visions of apartheid
and no idea what that means, really.
absolute infinity within every single subject
and dreamy opportunity frying like fat in the pan

self-hatred

fallibility represents itself
within every choice we make;
to know and not
or stand in doubt
is to know humanity

as if

slipping ships in night breezes--
meaning entire, mass breathing,
on top of bars dancing. i know
because i see them,
that they meet me then
and care to know less--
i'm only whipped by golden tresses
and teased with the chemical essence
of egyptian flowers
and rum!