hidden empire

all of these worlds are hidden from me, the ones i hear
from names and objects far away, books i haven't time for
bombs have dropped on names i can't pronounce for the
life of me, goodness gracious living disconnections
the local parish redolent with confessions unloaded and slates
cleaned wipe on a daily basis, ablutions absolutions and numbness
regarded with apropos misery

people know too much about adolf hitler
and not know about edward bernays
or
leo strauss or sayyid qutb

but hey baby trippy be happy the sun
shines down on trees and plants
the grays fade on and shade with age
and new days bring new things to hate

expectations

its not right unless he looks the part
uptight and relevant realized and definite
smooth edges to a rugged shape rounded at the corners
but angled in the face determined outgoing
firm grip and all knowing would be nice
can he play the so and so does he speak in whatever
its not right unless he looks the part
keep it straight sit and make it sound smart
earning time spent wasted in the trenches
a bristol palin
squeaky clean and average
homely animosities
to pick up after one by three
feet subsidies
pleading boredom, whisking
trouble messy hands fumbling
calculated plays upsetting
damsels in array along the bleachers
rusting in the heavy rain

animals
blocked off inside and clogged
in every channel.
hurried unsung and forgotten by semblances
of assemblies theyve established
codifying outlining internal memos detailing
the wherewithal how why and when perhaps
stumbling over what exactly remains

miles

astroturf for miles:
you, of course, had your say and disagreed,
but i kept seeing the revolting earth brimming with bright blue green
stripes of white reflecting off of hard plastic bodies in the punishing glow of those
stadium lights and angry fans

libido bound masses stirring affection
relegating their hatred for the outside world
freud was right; the ego and its own sees cause for fear
and desires redesigned by rapidly blinking text
mass produced cardboard paper faces, product placements
and everybody was happy, desires eating needs
breeding cultures of worry, self-conscious diagnosis soothed by
palliative democratic processes

i will not relinquish myself to the dogs of cheap commodities
and fierce slogans enrapturing the senses and severing ties wishy washy
minded burnt out and lopsided mild and unstained

days leap past like spent trains
eyes glazed over donuts burning in store
window displays
pressed and cut vinyl decals gleaming shadows
across grim tiles alternating in color maniacally spreading from
wall to wall arranged in duly gumstained sense of duty
hands snap fingers crack the mind breaks wracking
seemingly creature comforts and 401kays

sprung

at times i see the rest of my life lined along
like a snowy lane on a cloudy day unswerving but uncertain
mixed rock salts
stuck in wheel wells and stained hubs twirling like mad around
crusts of grease clinging to the steaming breast of that
beastly machinery heaving its guts and dodging
potholes

the scents of lonely hearts whittling bits into the wind
rhyming with the whistlin' wintertime
frosts fingers and ears with bits of cold
thoughts caught in throats under murmurs
i've heard

gleam blank eyes singing lights glanced off cold retinas
steel hard and open wide despite all limits
seethe holes breathing smoke obscures empty space surrounding air
debonair golden and unblinking sloping lashes unwavering
glimpses raw and toned sliding hugging curves around the outside and meeting in the back
hands on their hips urged earned and heard of
dismissed expanded diminished and unblemished
burned thanks hands ashed and dusted off
hair smoked and crisped twisted and tied
flicks of the wrist restrained and perspired

gone by

these gently folding days quietly enclose loose ends, cut ties
smoldering holes in envelopes snuffed out and resupplied
as old faces from stained photographs show wear
and reappear to bid you well and decent health
its good its real cool
everything that comes out of us rolls the world
shape incessant mirror image, looking glass repetition
springs it on its way bouncing sun beams off its ass crack.
inquiry is vainglory shifting
spreading like a plague and drowning homes wholesale
souls stroked and swallowed by churning foams
an ocean's wave polluted grain
morning momma, howdy.
im tired of telling you about it.
yesterday you said you'd pay me back. i'm not asking again.
if you need me
ill be blurring lines like rupert murdoch
and beating people to a pulp.

what

syllogistically i am brazen bold upright citizen but w/o a home
for generations again I sold slaves and sailed the seas as
you did burned down houses lining the highway patterns
but in my absence had no say in the first wave of accusations that
tumble and knock those grocery bags out your hand
rippling your stupid metal shelves you're constantly around
handles flying and contents bouncing off down linoleum checkered tiles bishop
style fruits veggies what have you dammit
upset and dragged durm and strang i bartered souls for
another four scores in the vaulted halls of the pristine bricked church you
congregate and supplicate when we walk we lunch and spy our feet the sidewalk
melts beneath our shadows lies the street and beaches waves sand
the fluttering eyelids of a 2nd gen immigrate starry-eyed framed by beautiful tropical
backdrop palm trees and stuff etc. incensed upset not happy holding those golden reins and somehow smiling despite it all
free will and truth the devastate procure the self assuage our
magistrates pernicious representatives of a vicious salutation commencing
on that border fenced apart by guards asleep a beer in hand and dim TVs
shimmering with discolored spectacles shining fence is gateless and wandering across
that heavenly division between black and white the sky's
starry eyes glide past the acreage intended for the cream of the cash crop atop the
ivory towers that dot the landscape smelling salts and fighting tremors feeling the vapors and
holding handkerchiefs over their facial features visage obscured by years of sexy sunglasses scars and fake ass lip injections hinged fingers itching feels a millennium strong
a hand on the thigh of an assistant clown vagabond began bending over and dressing down on center stage wage slaved and processed content the hum of drowning droning
applause signs popping
my quiet ambition keeps a gun from my hand in my mouth parted teeth by the bedside stand
playful objections to insinuations perfected
gravity debunked by object lessons and case studies eurocentric free and responsible the drive of big terms encompassing collective survival
the fruit stand man with his dick in my hand mutters creative comforts and divines a grand plan
shakti in sanskrit at the tips of my fingers embroiled by the fenders of their political correctness
I stand behind the bane you've created in your resistance communities your orders abated whateverish the concepts your middle class mold abrogates intentions lovers once held burn the cinemas mend the fences and continue on reckless abandon the sense of the bashful incentive the words slow piped down smoke cleaned and devoid of sound a crushing silence miserates the participant's hand raised aloft despite the shuffling papers and that unpleasant unpleasant bell

dictate my rhythm and incorporate our prose scrutinize vocabulary downplay trivial
trivial trivial trivial things pursuits from boredom empowers our mundane idealogical suits the hands
we're dealt make mountains or waves or empty out pockets till the end of our days

riding in cars was so easy in the

1990's

my hands stretched out to meet the gas station signs, bread and soup lines,

weaving through the winds soaking suns and easy rhymes

in their notions they sail the oceans and pound impressions upon the land

they tread

they find images in the books they've read,

and smooth out wrinkles and errant hairs with a moisturized hand and

and words in the sweetest sets;

they're sexy cool and bourgeois en el mejor modo posible

concomitant expectations that exceed themselves

and feed lacunae coil, ouroboros gorging

on its industrial flesh,

pale or glimmering or

awfully incandescent,

another product of a thousand years or more

of that proud progress into the unknown oblivion we call

western civilization

ruddy brown, we sit and scrounge the slowest chairs

on our hands our asses grow

broken unsung and largely unknown,

revealing but unappealing, verisimilar but pretty boring,

whisking a new century in our anxiety

mocking self-stroking literary circles 

and attitudes towards propriety