What Westernized Adults Are Waiting For

Cars go by the windows
and Westernized adults
seem depressed
indoors.
They wonder,
is this,
all this,
really a scam,
some sort of sham show
they judge themselves
and others
by.

So the fan turns
on
the ceiling,
the air conditioner hums,
and
they get up to check their email,
then
go back to work tomorrow.

For it is in some other world
where they do not
go
back to work,
but meet other adults
from their
community
to discuss and address
the real problems
actually relevant
in their lives.

For in this other world
they
are not
propaganda bejeweled
dominators and subservients,
obsessed with myth and power,
but rather
objective listeners
and
compassionate actionnaires,
vested in both observant locality
and also relational reality.

And these Westernized adults
realize this other world is

waiting to be built.

Advertisements

Force Lux Imperium Imperius

Would I have to leave you
for Space?
When the cities were sick.
Choking, polluted messes,
discarded, but still not discarded.
Of course, like all great shit shows,
built by the masculine gender.
Gravel, trash, petrochemicals.
Fused, smashed, grinded together.
But look, there is a new glassy
skyscraper rising above.
Phalluses we pat our backs over.
The leaders retire in them.
Guarded by their Imperium Guards.
These are truths of the era.
Dumb, choking, cough.
So would I have to leave you
to love you, to love in a new way,
beyond the dumb dome of
violent boys playing with their
toys.
To kiss the blue bend, bleeding
to black, infinity, freedom.
Civilizations not built around
gold, silicon, and silicon dioxide,
but light, mineral soil, air, the
circle,
the unworded, and the unmolecule.

Pete’s Pizza Economies Falling

centuries of people
have eaten that bad pizza
more long lasting
is the mystery of
these economies that plague us

come for the people
at this street corner
going in to get their pizza

going into the brick and
mortar
neighborhood building
to be back home with family
eating the cheese and sauce
and meat
with all those electric screens
aglow

they look into each others
eyes
with something ancient
asking

there’s more to this
in our DNA and the dust of
stars
above and so far across
existence
than what I chew and swallow
over and over

The Flowers

the-flowers

why can’t we all live in
space stations
on earth?

we can
that is where this is going

all of us as remnants
in boxes together
replicating yesterday and
tomorrow

oh
but surrounded by glass
and
space age metal
and corridors with
lots of clean water flowing
then lots of UV light
like
the wanting of flowers

The Prosperous Impoverished

priceofhealth

when the corporations go away
we will still love
unloved by the
waste they have laid
and pollutants in
our blood

but when we
cough blood clots

when children ask

we’ll tell them
there was once this thing
called wealth

it’s the cost and the price of health

from the once high mandates
of fiendish men
always
men
stuck in the 20th century

and this is why I love your
blue eyes now
amongst the stars, averages
and standard messages
encoded

The Foot Soldier or Being In Love In A Free Market Economy

It’s like I’m going to war in
World War II
My legs are shaking
I need a ciagarette
My lungs are big
I’ve not had enough calories for the day
though I still love you
On my way up
to the bell tower
where the sniper is
My best friend had his head blown off
and it splattered on me
Gave me the vegence to kill them
These chemicals
It’s why we should never forget
The mechanisms at play
Capitalism produced all this
The tobacco from Turkey
The marketing
The landing on beaches
and the copius loss of life
that makes us men

A Nocturnal Of Laser Beam

She became an idea.

An idea that wore dresses,
loved capitalism,
wanted children,
and had corporeal feelings
embedded in memories and
neurons.

This idea drove in a white
stationwagon
from Texas to New York City
and would never be seen
again.

She woke up from a ghost
on a planet
seven hundred and fifty
light years away
and had foggy remembrance
of a different way of life
and
a different count of days.

The landscape turned from
the white plaster walls of
temples to orange mountains
in the distance
and the navy blue night far
up above.

She breathed.
Her heart beat.
She remembered someone she
once loved.
She looked down at her wrists
and ankles.
Her eyes blinked.
She lived.

A transmitter brought transference.

A lifetime had been stored in
molecules, configured into
radiation and
prior held assumptions were
antiquated.

When Eve Was Unformed

The days is done. The pop music played.
Cavafy’s been read. The scotch drank.
And a train howls solitarily through town,
proclaiming the Industrial Revolution on
the good contemporary day; the greedy
Industrial Revolution, it won’t let go. The
door is open. The pearl land curves of her
ivory body curl on air, the languid, suspended,
electric air. Her smell scents the world. One
thousand six hundred miles away she is
there. Her eyes, the jewels of empires, fall
on concrete, sad concrete. Concrete the
immigrants laid from the bounty of war. Her
chestnut hair flies as the banner of tyrants
and servants. The genetics are broken in
the City. People enter the department store.
People enter the department store. The apple
core rots in her garbage. Her constitution was
formed from war. She lives in the capital of
Capitalism. It lusts her femininity. It loves her
curves. It floors on the energy drinks of the
tiendas. O the asbestos crumbles!

The day is done.

I Remember Something

Sometimes I remember something then
I remember the sun.

I remember people doing dumb things
like rushing to toy stores filled with products
from China
on Christmas Eve evening in Southern California
because
they believed this is what love is.

I don’t believe this is love, I don’t believe
these kind of people anymore.

They’re floating along out there, somewhere
in outer space

somewhere as spirits
because let’s be honest
that is how they were born to be

as
the walking dead, the slaves, the constructors of
slaves, the worshipers of kings.

Are You, My Gloxx Tower Baby

Gloxx Tower (Williamsburgh Bank Building)

Have you been to Gloxx Tower, Baby

Where the Head Capitalist lives up high

In Roman decor

Have you sipped from the crystal

That whittles the soul from the mind

Have you been with the collector of numbers

On evenings

And drank of the wines of Bourgogne

Or
Perhaps
You’ve only brushed the Tower at its bellows
Like all the good commoners do
Rushing on their way across Brooklyn
In subway cars
These alms to the American dream
At the feet, of course, of what the
Capitalists weave

Have you indulged or worshiped or even now
are you sleeping

Sleep sweet in the fields of Umbria

The timbers of Iberia have been lumbered
To carry the motive all across the planet

To alter our DNA forever

Oh, my Gloxx Tower Baby
Your DNA was once human