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i feel like a ferret on the edge of earthquake.
i need to find higher ground. it's more and less
than temperature rising, stagnant oceans,
sinking islands, because when momma wants to kick
you out, you're out. more is i feel the menopausal weather
kickin in. she got a new
favorite, the baby she's carrying now, some armegeddon
begotten morphestic pestilence that'll have
her rewrite the will, sans guess who? it's less
but more amerkan
theocracy in the sunbelt, rigged republicans, degraded
democrats. when the right wing calls for a quorum
you know you're in trouble. i watched
his face tonight, the warmonger's, as he bleated
behing his wolf's clothing prevaricated
fornicator of national will. and this
man sez
i don't think it was a plot, i think
it just happened to happen this way i think
even tho the man had a script
written in tabula
risen holy/er than thou's by the fireaters' testicles
it's just coinkidink about the cars
and the peak oil crisis coming your way, in other words
yes,
we are all
that stupid.

we lit the fire. ribbit ribbit.
we watch the flames lick the pot.


*


the boy is away, banishment to his father's house
where he can watch the party line
he has to learn that anarchy in these troubled times
requires smarts. that means not getting caught
by the men with the guns. it's one thing
to depend on family to hide you but friends
are out for themselves, never forget that.
to wit:


he lets me accuse his friends and implicate
that he was not involved. thinks he's off the hook.
the other 2 boys fight it out with him, if they're in deep
then so is he, after all, he had the red can.
i hear some fisty banter outside.
i give them to the next big thing.
ashbery says i don't write life i write out of life.
i think i believe i k now what he means i mean
the tailgated whip whistle bellows from the next room
where an entire civilization drifts
in as much anime as we gods herein.
i walk the saturday afternoon sheltered from the attack
of the pollen, picking up scraps of laundry,
cigarette butts, the metro section picking things
up, putting them into some order
no one recognises after the body bags are dragged
through the remains of a once sunni home
he had the red can. his friend comes in and says
i don't know if jacob told you or not, but he sprayed too
he had the red can. i once told a young man
that if he were in the desert, out of water
for a day and he came upon a compound, an oasis
thick with palm trees and ungrazed as yet this year grass
beside a crystal pool and the people at the windows
seemd to be saying something but you can't make out
the words and you stumble towards the water not asking
just moving toward the only thing that can save you
if one of them raisedagun at you, it would be bliss
rcycled for one of you. in war
there is only you and the other. whatever is not ou
must be other.

let's call it a night shall we?