Thursday, May 14, 2009

3 Poems


Officials admit they've let Pakistan too loose.
And China, well shit, it factors last if at all,
Riding the sanctions like an authentic panda taboo
Minus the coop.
Letters sent from Afghanistan describe the sight
Of models dying of malnutrition.
Their puddles increase triumphant laundry.
Their stubble reduces cost effective molecules.
In 2012, global warming will kill us white people.
O how I wish I were Beyonce's Hepatitis A
Risk and how.
Hell, I'm off to Orlando lacking roots and leaves.
A parasite of protests huffing to become ethnic.
My gnarly pants, my ashen books, my
Parents and chicken nuggets prescribed as outrageous
Fortunes proving creationism supports variable hives.
There's nothing else after 'em, these progressive materials
Manufactured for the material spent.
And chatty spaces turn into mayonnaise, softly soulless
In soft, soulless bodies dragged through Mogadishu
From boom to bust.
New outlet malls. New joystick dreams.
Wombs our lotteries obsess over with pizza.
No worries captain, the fleece and cortex construe the rest.
I'll do my best not to fester hope less.


Airplanes overhead, your ounce of weed prepares me
For a trip to the grocery store.
I clown-puke a liter of red wine up
On my girlfriend, on
Her muff.
Cabinets putter around asswards, the way a rat cellar
Stimulates rat pinkies.
The only treatment one can take during this mystery
Inserts an organic banana's twist first.
And I could do without it
Sitting here, licking my bones and running like flesh.
I am laughing at you, I just
Want to be left the fuck alone.
And because the rotting asks enough of itself, I need
To be mindful of today as if it's naturally torn.


Mangles the uncanny blue of
A river that knows which mules to let pass, and which
Ones deserve drowning.
Standing on the shore, a claw spares the plastic bag
It cuddles.
Other survivors absorb the pages burning
So they might learn new ways of farming.
And without some fantasy to grovel, a slight refraction
Makes the world seem tolerable.
Vultures circle this ditty, snacking on human follicle.
I pity the river, perhaps I'm filthy.

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