on the way to the coffee shop to read Fanon

short brown men

bent double

under america

digging up the peonies, planting

the mums

  .

I wanted to rage, shoot, 

kill murder, maim

instead

I went to t.j. max,

and bought a new
pair of gloves.

.

All the billions in the buildings

going through the

car wash

leaking oil and gasoline

soap,

was making me 

itch,

fantastically

.

the office: furniture, self 

import, and struggle to

make the car payments.

servicing the debt

with 

the plunder

.

“A Nation of Savages”

.

and out in the land, the styrofoam and 

architecture

sags

into a decrepit beauty

.

it’s too much

my heart

 explodes

.

some think, suffering may lead us

to the light

others,

it's just a long
way
down

.

but the bricks don’t lie

they lay

stacked

on burnt

dead
bodies. exchanged

for piles 

of money

.

a yung black man, sweeps,

leaves into the garbage.

can the smell of traffic, stop a slow

slide into hopeful

despair?

.

out in the streets
they call it:

flares in the night

he grits his teeth

bears grin

at the moose

and shoot

.

maybe you tube 

videos

of the uncrushable spirit
human happiness

will save us

.

we are, after all

ancient beasts

crafty and wise

and the temporary evils

can in a moment of 

surprise

collapse

implode

from their own nearsighted stupidity

.

[someone else wrote]

the problem of evil

in complex societies

technologically sophisticated

and disjointed

may be perpetuated more

by passive acceptance

than any malevolent force

.

a cold sun lights the last yellow leaves 

and i’m not shivering

any more

.

monday, tuesday, comes

and through the morning tree light - the path becomes crowded, packs of wolf like men panting in spandex, the narrow lanes full of a rushing rushing rushing

along the river vistas a cold steam lifts, mingles with the exhaust, yellow, gold

the night cry softens, warmth 

seeps into the bones, the knee, starts to ache

monday: on the mall, women everywhere, breasts bouncing, smelling like watermelons

doing laps around the big cock (what tha fohk? I can see why it ain’t ever gonna stop)

tuesday: its squeegee day in the reflecting pool, big lawnmowers everywhere

roaring over the beaten ground.

Head as sieve for sifting rain

Dreary days when the brain is made to pay for all the time in play with neurochemistry, sleepily they all fade away but not the day when the motion is to fenestrate. Actually I'm awake, through the clouds I slake thirst and burst a bubble of sensitivity to the world, thence forth it's all proclivities, fuck a tv personality especially if their soliloquy ain't moving me, individuality, the bane of existence and yet we celebrate all our difference; and what should it be? Raindrops on the scene of nativity? Kaleidescopes elope into phantasmagoria of mental allegories of dystopian utopia, one pilgrims vision, is prison, which makes it escapable through all the books we've never written. An infinity of creativity resulting in endless words and scribbling, a snake eating tail type cosmos of circles within circles within circles and the color purple, Alice walkering through the ghetto on the bus, in lust we trust and discuss and the different ways society could spontaneously combust into laughter friends genuine questioning, sleep so happy naked into the mourning, upon happiness what depends? The staving off of ends? It all certainly hangs suspended   Swinging for cerebral psycho emotional appendages, blended with experience of fearing things, I'm scaring up the bots just to slay them, then through talk therapeutics to get rebooted, blasted out spoken word and was booted, hit the corner spot for some good shit but got pooh poohed and muted, fuck it, jus lemme listen to some legitimate music? Any suggestions from the cupids? Or the cute kids? Sometimes it all seems so intelligently stupid: fuck Donald trump and all the Larry summers type bullshit, I don't understand how after thirty years of blood in the sand society can't compute shit ! Blame the hype and the thirty second news cycle, or the lack of political influence of prince ...  Why mince words with the absurd? are we better of curbed or heard? Legend of the hamhock he ended up in drydock with the dry rot ... Whiskered up and liquored, hit the store till he got bored and sacrificed nice life for a Sasquatch wife and a really sharp knife. Out in the boonies with some loonies, couldn't get any more roomy than watching goonies on the shroomies, oh who he? Commander hamhock the pit boss crew chief? Double executives and cold blooded expletives jackin all the kids for their extra cred; went to college early, mighty squirrely, but didn't figure out the girl game till 11.30.1999, but what would you expect from a swine? To turn on a dime? Fly? Or just swashbuckle and shine? Obviously the mini ore is divine influence as I in the life death sentence of mixed blessings through repentance. Hey you! Get some freakin pants!

Swollen Knee Wrap

early am in NorthWest, 

limping down the street with a pocket full of pills,  muttering under his breath about the military industrial complex, 

yeah crazy as hell feelin unwell with the rest of em, sociopathic tendencies and world wide wrestling, breathe in the smell of gasoline dreams and fumes of brand new machines getting savage, 

getting savaged, mutually assured destruction ravaging the land like an old teflon frying pan, 

oh dearie me, pharmaco-industrio sweeps me,

up in sweet embrace of pretty face on the side of the bus sized like outta space, blowing all your fuses in confusion mental contusions get wrapped up in spiritual pollution, 

another day space cosmic revelation be blowin up my face, 

but they don’t care,

they just do the hundred yard stare,

straight past long hair on the sidewalk of early morning air, 

not good morning sir even in response, so i flaunt,

this jaunty broken knee walk,

smile and grin much to their chagrin,

the goddamn planet refuse to stop to spin, 

earth days seemingly the worse days, 

that’s why they pound the coffee even though they thirrsstayy, 

on the metro bus social scale dehydration and lust fuckin up! 

drinkin beer with the queers, as the weird,

 continue to pay professional sums to get dumb, 

fuck it kid suck your thumb in public and get sick like cleaning staph, 

bustin out the mops and brooms, sweep out the tomb, 

find a sarcophagus under six hundred millennia of dust, light a match, combust.