Would I have to leave you
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
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
the unworded, and the unmolecule.
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
In the summer
I will want to jump
from the city bridges
into the polluted river below
the carcinogenic world
that men have built
from their grand manly
then I’ll climb out,
to be loved properly by you
and your ripe womanly
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
It’s why we should never forget
The mechanisms at play
Capitalism produced all this
The tobacco from Turkey
The landing on beaches
and the copius loss of life
that makes us men
We are divorced.
The children don’t walk into
the kitchen to see us.
The children don’t exist in
or the backseat of
moving through moonlight
Your hair falls for some other
silence on the bathroom
The grime on the light switch
Another family moves in.
Industrial Revolution is
It defeats the unpresentable.
The solo. The non-perfected.
There are graduation parties around
I won’t be there
under the Spring bloomed oak trees
souring scents of keg beer
and hanging bulbs of pink lights
Those days are fifteen years beyond
My head is but a hazy haze each
Not filled with subjects of moons
and phases or the kissing lips of
fresh skin by the windblown lake
What would I do at a graduation party
besides toss cupcakes upon the
hoods of classic cars
then come round with a mower
the next day
to cut a damp and fertile lawn
to start the crusty ruse of economics
that the empty call adulthood
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.