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
to be back home with family
eating the cheese and sauce
with all those electric screens
they look into each others
with something ancient
there’s more to this
in our DNA and the dust of
above and so far across
than what I chew and swallow
over and over
I watched my shadow on the grass
walk in night.
The lamp cast it sad, human,
Is to be human
to be remnant,
longing to live on some rock or star,
burning away in the sky
with 50 million years behind us?
Do these friendships turn into
circling high above
we notice our silhouette in distance
on the grass . . .
California was unification in my mind
genetics sculpted by television signals
or these are family planning models
your hands held my wrists
oh eucalyptus trees on high over the
gray skies to sweep the ocean
so many sadness made tears
mornings as neglected children
plastic cups and plastic bags down the
sea shorn fields
our lack of eloquent civilization
these things are no coincidence
this is our fear of love
we live forth of symbols
not love forth of heart
when the corporations go away
we will still love
unloved by the
waste they have laid
and pollutants in
but when we
cough blood clots
when children ask
we’ll tell them
there was once this thing
it’s the cost and the price of health
from the once high mandates
of fiendish men
stuck in the 20th century
and this is why I love your
blue eyes now
amongst the stars, averages
and standard messages
I have lived happily, jubilantly,
and so many others were
wanting, striving, to be
If these are our days
then what is our wealth
in the end
the nothingness we go
rather insignificant vanishings
amongst the galaxies
So this my friend
is why I rejoice and love
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 can’t sleep when you’re on vacation.
My hands are small, smaller than they’ve
The kittens were born ten years ago behind
a modest wooden house in Fort Worth.
The cats will die someday. I’ll cry like a
I personally think the bacteria in your stomach
and anus are what’s ruined you, you know
soured you as a person,
in the midst of this lactic war.
Biologists think the big red spot on Jupiter
is fueled by lactic acid,
the lactic acid, that is, in its upper atmosphere.
I thought for a moment;
kind of like your robot stomach.
love a lot like robots driving by the White House,
reporting on domestic spying initiatives
tossing Molotov cocktails.
Your sheets are folded perfectly.
Your bed is made quiet nicely.
These are not codes, Shipley Shipwin. They are
Sometimes I remember something then
I remember the sun.
I remember people doing dumb things
like rushing to toy stores filled with products
on Christmas Eve evening in Southern California
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
the walking dead, the slaves, the constructors of
slaves, the worshipers of kings.
What are these things I stare at in the store?
They’re not legs or asses.
They’re moments of nothingness
that turn into frozen eternities
where the only cognizant thought I have
is how much I love you.
Then I see again
with fluorescence around me.
I have bones that hold me up to go forward
and the sadness of a world at war
begins to live again
for the followers of symbols and power.
Not the philosophers of moments.
The moments are empty here,
ungathered by mortals and products.
It’s what the aliens were calling knowledge
one thousand three hundred and sixty-four
light years away in their past.
Kiss and you shall feel the air.
My vanquished ghost. No.
My lingering tome. The smell
of our home. Winter Twenty-Twelve.
I am still there. Burning the spiced
cranberry in your heart.
You misplaced your feelings in
between moments of sipping booze
and placing your glass down upon
the wooden credenza to stain it.
For your breath can vanquish
or Hollywood human existence.
The transitory bourgeoisie.
Now can you
kiss the air in the time portal I walk
Or make my electrons vector.
Bring your insecurities to flesh
I live within your DNA.