planning the new army

the whole fucking thing's collapsing
i feel like a thousand soldiers yanked by a child's hand


like i'm a puppet directed by a god . and i'm that god's hand
the brainwave that moves it. iow. karma. hey jack i had a natural
ayahuscya whilst surfing an old blog, and finding an entry
that i needed for the book, yes, still writing it. the universe
won't let me have a new lover till i finish it. then after
that i found a perfect place to plop it in the book.

there's helicopters beating the airspace tonight
it makes me think of new roommate, just out of jail
on financial charges no worries, how we have to stick
together in this life. who knows who knows. one card up
another card down. i've known this woman longer than
i've known most people in my life. our girls grew up
together. she's a scorpio too. i wonder how much
of her story is true and how much is gems from her need.
she is my sister.
born on the same day as my last long term lover. 2ybf.
odd that. i know three people born on the day right
before halloween. i get along with them, scorpions all.
i'm almost sure i will feel her sting. it better not
involve crack. i don't think i could handle that.
tho i understand subterranean motives, it's fire
that fascinates me. such innocence in the lilting yellows
the way they grab at the air with a child's glee, tasting sugar.
more daddy. more. i remember when my daughter first had a taste
of coca cola. she was in her stroller at my dad's good friend
or some sort of uncle by marriage or cousin in the tenth degree.
she was in her walker on linda's porch, at the scooty stage
oh, nine months old, still babbling and playing with fingers
but looking outward, smiling at granddads n things. reaching.
my dad said here baby have a little soda, held the can up
to her mouth. she sucked. her face lit like firefly her hands
plush moths reaching for the ty moon. she was in love. or pleasure.
sometimes it's difficult to distinguish the two. thanks dad
i said and rolled my eyes, now you have her addicted. earlier we'd been talking
about how i was trying to keep sugar out of my baby's diet. linda
gave me a "men,what can you do" look.
i remember playin with their kids at the family reunions.
that's something we did when we went to these things
we met our cousins , we played under the antebellum porch
of one aunt and slept in the farmhouse attic of another. my
grandmothers sisters. at night the creepy slopes of the roof
visible in the dorm style room the girls shared.
some nights we'd watch the donkeys yoked to the wheel
turn the huge press as the men fed in sugar stalks .
the sweet cane syrup dribbled out the other side
into jars the oldest kids had to keep their eyes on.
i remember a fire, i know that there was fire. perhaps
they boiled the sryrup. perhaps the memory
is vague because i like the nostalgaic feel of that dead era
how i lived in the last of truly rural south, when family
farmers raised crops of tobacco, cane, corn, children
that moved off the land and into the coffers of the city
never leaving much for back home. before cable tv.
when static was the most watched channel, a default mode,
available everywhere. thre's a train on the track
to the north of where i live now, the whistle moan another
anachronism that spins thru the sliceosphere, connecting
me back to the buffalo slaughterers just as keenly
as to the blues players that traveled the rails
in the last great depression. the great one.
i dunno, the fire this time around seems ready to burn.
we've been taught what the last great depression did.
how we got out of it. but that's not going to help
thistime. if you'd'nt get a piece of everything,
that's ok. we can save some for the children

oy sleepy. lemme light this smoke. oh shit. it's after midnite.
no wonder.


i know a couple of aries men that
flamed like an offering to the gods. they say young
meat is tastiest, soul still sweet. how bitter
their ashes smudged on my window.