Friday, August 29, 2008
retail reptile
not this while, gene.
not if i can fake it, too.
the wind snapped in half
over a spiked lemonade stand
covered in armed guards.
armed gods.

return the favor, lame wolf.
paradise is ill with confusion.
parasites are sneaking in
through the back door 
like movie theatre kids 
with cigarette stained skin.
remember that jacket
you grew out of ?

bits of busted saxophone pads
in the back of the closet.
you swear you'll get back into it.
your sweat rises 
from your swollen lip.
this isn't home.

fragments of fading faces,
places, things that shine mad dark
little constitutions, melodies,
signature laughs, significant events,
accomplishments, great teething,
found objects, ringing in the ears,
bloodletting, rhythm of love,
river of birth, ribbon of life,
veins reaching for the end
in every direction, parts of nothing,
your own body, distant voices,
spinning, dissolution, answer.
all good things float to the surface.
or at least that's what you wanted
to believe.  

take off that mask, little light.
great illumination. one nation,
with or without or within,
indestructible, unable to speak,
unable to weep.
see you at the funeral,

the nursery,     and the zoo.
Written at 12:44 AM by kiai copy machine.
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