Friday, January 22, 2010


Re-this, re-whatever, your boobs
Reinvent me.
Set them in the pot, set them on.
Pour water over all the gold pieces
Of my thigh and smolder.

Choose a bone and boil it
With flesh from your feet.
Say, my bone is your fruit.
Say, your boobs are birds of the air
Scaling columns of moons of blood.

Choose my flesh to soil and enter.
Re-this, re-whatever, your columns
Of thigh and shoulder
Reinvent the bone and set the moons in a pot
With their blood on fire.

Pour birds on all the rich pieces of your boobs
Until I am the same smell as 
Death crawling without a ruler, singing
The silence of Earth
Before us.


I see few stars.
The worlds are sooner and sooner.
I read while paying
The overcrowded brains
Many people
Born from babies barely breathing
In a world that's sooner and sooner.
I look for stars on top of you, it's
Like photographing a forbidden execution.
And I pay to barely breathe
People and parts of country
Moving outside the evacuated air, passing
Through bodies and sending money back
So we can live under suns and build power
With bloodshot walls bearing too many gloves 
Wearing fingernails unwilling to talk.

1 comment:

ana c. said...

i like these
a lot