destroying all content

It is important to destroy the myth of scarcity first. That is precisely what cash is for, to select an American, put him above a grave and sing doctrines to him. Taken to its logical conclusions

humans, in their own way, will destroy the bees.

This can make dolphins--and various porpoise and porpoise-like mammals (whales, otters, people, labor models)--very nervous, to the point of uncontrollable shaking, vomiting and finally, mutual harassment.

Their eyes are contractually obligated to bleed sharp white crystals that hum "This Land is Our Land." Their teeth are removable pieces of milk candy. Their toes are pieces of language spoken for at midnight mass, with tiny etchings of candle light on the tips. Their fingers, underprivileged and torn, are ugly bulbs of flesh, each a vinegar capsule releasing into the air before bed.

While Socialists attempt to wreak havoc on slippery little LA weasels, I suggest we manufacture spawning beds for humans. We will cover the beds in the LIGHT OF GOD. And then magic conception! It will be beautiful and green, or boring and sexual.

***

Did you call, Light-God? Do you need me to cut a secret from you?

We developed a software using twitter to pump light into the houses of low income families, ask me how!

Well

of course they drown.

Why yes, the little ones first.

No, it's not unpleasant to sing into the lungs of their dead little pill bodies. I find it quite invigorating. Like a frisky Danish breeze passing through my body. Like wearing those extra tiny shorts on holiday.

***

I say we voyage into the capacity of your space now, fondle up the curves of your curl, kiss the spit from your eyes. It will be such fun to see you smile at my Porsche again.

THE BIGGEST WOMAN OF THE DAY (cont.)

after Anne Boyer


Cougars

The cougar can rise or create history on a stump.

If a human talks, then history is good.


Deerhunters

Your outfit and clothes are fluidity, they get me totally wrong and dig into me / the pieces that break the ear and ribs. I get so much music it is breaking apart the wallpaper / the ribbons grouping under my nails. I am never leaving this cranked, fluorescent microcastle. First a conduit to having no age / First a deliberate playing of all songs at once, coalescing as rainwater that makes me high. Please baby, do not be happy about the deliberate clicking of the glass / do not be happy about the exceptional love making.


Bear

In a video the woman bears a child
in her room.
This woman
a 74-year-old
was attacked cutting and wrapping illegal foods in newspaper
but still feels lucky to live in the bear enclosure
with her four miracle babies.

# 10 @ Ink Node

#10 Work Poem

#9 Dream Poem @ Ink Node

#9 Dream Poem

#8 Night Poem @ Ink Node

#8 Night Poem

#7 Panda Poem @ Ink Node

#7 Panda Poem

#6 Light Poem @ Ink Node

#6 Light Poem

POEM

business

Is the pale dead air on thank you
a rhetorical hand-job jive
where currents are focused on evading
progression and humility

Nod you head
ahh the fine shoes
bye bye

Hermes bitches about the
tarried economic blah

Sisters huddled in shawls crap in
aging festoons
and continental breakfast swims in praise
I don't know how sea monkeys live
they thrive even
(overeating precluding to dominance)
or how giants paste the limit of thought

It confuses and upsets me
I sleep in a blue shirt and slacks
just in case.

Poem: It's Still Like Mississippi Somewhere

formatting can be a pain in the ass.

Poem: Last Week In Texas

I wrote this on a napkin too. Mostly at the kickball game & at dinner.

Last week in Texas
   I was so full of shit.
   The door was locked
   the whole time.

Last week in Texas
   I found penny stacks
   on some park benches
   parked inside a coffee cup.

Last week in Texas
   I looked at a kite
   in the air like a heart
   or either way, i was sad :(

Last week in Texas
   I was called Californian
   poured down oranges and skates
   waiting endlessly for a wave

last week in texas
   i drank stale bread smoothies
   they were awful
   they were adorable

Last Week In Texas
   my empathy center burped
   in a pinch hit
   from to Fire Island

Poem: To Watch The Heaving Distress

To watch the heaving distress
is a call to open natures
a sticky fig brown cake
           In the corner
finds dad

tiring up hill
sweat touching the ringing
wheatstalks to his mouth
screeching birds to his eyes
screeching bells to his ears

a mockingbird hisses floral patterns,
chews old sundays,
finds time in early champagne,
loves mother new - but still live healthy

Donna finds still-hating in
Judy's dinner "still a whore"
never ending
all in black
fist-balling up stairs
           eye kniving
spilling up

past mockingbirds
past hum-trunks  old sound boxes

tickling knees to wood
remembering why sisters stay
dads die
the wind
still goes

bells over bells

Poem: Sand

I wrote this on a napkin. For my dad. Two days ago. Jess helped. Not sure. May need more help.

Poem

Dad explicates sand on me
  in his sand chair
          his sandy fucking sand chair
  sand is progress
          he brushes sand
                  internal sand organs

:hair sand
  short sand
     nail sand
                           
  don't move
      castles of Judy's
              sand legs by the
      seagull cave


  the grinding of sand music against
   us is sweet salt sand
a whole day
sand