francofinally

out this window i see

curtains shading november's

drizzle. it looks cold but it's

still warm as paris in april but

how would i know, i've been there

 only in movies

she's never meant as much to me

as when troops run along her legs

searching for rats with weapons

i can call her "her", feel protective

toward her pretty streets, iconic symbols.

how fitting jihad begins in earnest at her

maypole dancing, octoberfest, futbol.

i wish those war hogs would have taken up

pigskin instead of heavy metals

been looking for the answer, as if there's only one

the answer to me is we are the football for the next level.

we, you know, the people and civilizations of this world. 

had a bf once who was a real gamer, early type OG. 

he loved him some civilization 2. the manipulation of bits

to bytes to tactical strategy proved that while weaponry

was pretty damn strong, cultural openness was essential

for a lasting empire. otherwise, it just ended

in total nuclear annihilation. i think we have a match, jim.

so when i'm stoned like this i appreciate the insight 

into the different levels of this simulacrum. it's more

 layered than second life, with hidden bubbles 

monitored by systems admins. sometimes, lives

slip through the splices. i can not comprehend

the slipstream multiplexed in the godhead

coalescing into any kind of ultimate story, 

yet  every belief system assures

ourselves that god knows. 

i think god's as clueless

as the rest of we. 

sure, there's this archetypical story

a metaphor, a poem carried

through this round of history and if pre historic

cultural ruins are deciphered properly

- scientists think they are, if that's any comfort-

it's a spin off the most popular story of man and our god. 

so of course we are doomed to apocalypse

it is written. 

i want to find that gene and decode it

find the antonym and write it

splice some compassion into it

just to see how that bit of tinkering

would play out. 

instead of whips and chains, feathers

for the pain pleasure interstice. but then

how to go exploring or walk on

grit and grass. oh this is a hard puzzle.

i think i gave you all the tools you need

but i see that repetition breeds addiction.

is there any way to separate the two?

mystics have always tried, ask jesus.

ask mohammed. i wonder how he justified

keeping the female part of god out of his 

revelations. did he hate his mommy so much?

she is lithe and strongly supple. lights

and tunnels, for love, for sleep, for play.

she may have neglected you for a moment

but she is your blanket, your first love

she returns because she has been fairly treated

by life.

well, that went totally the wrong way.

i don't know paris. i've seen her photographs

remote and intimate. stipples, watercolor,

gaouche, neon. the collagen fails beneath

her bright paint but she's still beautiful.

even the jumpers have halos. 

even the shooters, even the bombers, even 

the soldiers on the streets. you can't help

but notice what the fires have wrought

you can't help but want to choke her rapists.

but we have to forgive, she says, we must

oh mother. how can i bandage the split bones

mop up the blood, bury the parts 

without demanding retribution?

and she answers because i love them

i raised them as i raised you but the fathers

want to use me as their pawn. 

if you play, then i am no more than object

in their game. they have forgotten

who fed them, what shelter there was

came from me. so, will you do the same?

leave me gaping and torn, abandoned 

and you, refugee of the world.

forgive, move on. 

but there is, in this belief

no room for apostasy. 

i do not know how to deal 

with that. you say change 

but what is written cannot be undone.

  tattooed with fire 

from the cradle

rewards that have never been disputed

yet unprovable make sacrifices

things of value. when life itself is nothing 

more than begging and lack

this is the logical choice. 

except for the women.

whose opinions on the matter

are not solicited but inculcated. 

as it always is. i wonder what 

fairy tales are told in harems.

doubleplus ungood then donut

since when is university about being safe?

this is the time you should be questioning 

certainties,honing your debate skillz -

which means that you not only hear the other's side

but know the arguments that will be used

to tear your stats apart as well as you know

the inside of your lover's palm- exposing

yourself to things you have not previously learned

or unlearning the certainty principle. 

this is not the time to get A's at holding your 

beliefs like a child in the dark 

or you can be like isis. they have a chapter

on intolerance i think you might find instructional.

it is, as of this moment, still your choice.

*(000

and other things. i'm quite sure

i could find a million rantable things

on the news as they call it.

i want to be exposed to something else.

we think the daily life goes on

between this scrambling purge of good intents

like yesterday eva and i met at the picnic 

tables. she told me a bit about budapest

while i luanched into what i know: the major

religion of US is hypocrisy and money.

prolly not that order. we need a triumverate

to make it stick so come up with another.

oh oh. hypocrisy, money, beauty.

let's relate that to another well known meme.

money =god, hypocrisy=the father, beauty=the holy ghost

wow, didn't realize how catholic we are. must be due

to the kennedys.. i'm so blase i'm my tone is noam.

silently, perciously, pernicisouly i misspell words

lost in autocorrect. i should make a list

but i'm writing, i could make a list but i'm driving.

_______////////_______

heyo, my baby standard. 

so this is what it was like in mid november:

gramma takes  you on a play date with elle.

but  no one's come yet and she

forgot her phone. i don't want to go,

they might show up and leave if they don't see us?

 gramma says it's ok, i can call them 

and let them know we're here. i'm sure they'll 

wait a bit. it's not far.so you leave and you're sure

no one will come, but when you get back

there they are, elle and her momma, drawing

on the big blank courtyard with sidewalk chalk

the time goes by, you draw flowers and turkeys

hopscotch grids. there are no balls, no rocks. 

gramma has forgotten the rules of hopscotch

but she shows you how to move your feet:

           one

           foot

    two     feet

           one

           foot

    two     feet

           one

           foot

    two     feet

then its on to the slides. other kids show up 

a baby, a boy, a tween.you have so many people

around you and still you play on your own.

it worries me sometimes how self sufficient you are

how you're ok with solitary. but onlys must

be this way. grown ups are just too stupid to play. 

today there is a father with a kite, he shares it

everyone. gets a turn, and you take as many

as you can. gramma says she'll get you one

but when you go to the mall, she only buys clothes. 

at least she lets you run around the indoor

playground. she had changed you into 

a  unicorn t-short and rainbow leggings

to see if they fit. , they do. there are new puzzles

and lots of room to play one man tag

without running too fast. 

still no kite.you feel the wind tug

the kite stretch and pull at its tether

a bounding puppy, you let the leash out

and it jumps higher into the sky.

  you know how it feels

to fly now, wing bend and flex matic.

you tell elle goodbye, expect you won't

be seeing her again or maybe so sometimes

gramma's friends come back around

but say see ya anyway.ask gramma hey

can i just rest a little bit when we get home.

oh yes. o very yes. 

recollection

recall the time you were in kindergarten
on the weekends you got to stay at grammas
 she took you to thai for the first time
ordered clear noodle soup with pork meatballs
there was a mechanical cat, shiny gold with green jewel
eyes that methodically waves at you
and a little girl with blonde hair could be
your sister whose shoes flash as she runs
past you to the waiting alcove. you ask to be
excused and follow her. she sings her abcs
loudly so you join in, not quite so loud
you must be good or they will make you
sit down perhaps kick you out
but its so fun to part the curtains
and look out on the night where people
walk by with their dogs, and the diners
murmur can be heard beyond the thin
carved wood screen. they can't
see you so you get a little louder
then she stands on the bench
when just then gramma comes over
whispering inside voices girls
use your inside voices. the little girl
seems confused but you show her
how to sing her abcs nice and low
so no one gets in trouble
and you can play here
till the food comes in.





















()__






i remember being maybe eight
my grands would take us to red lobster
where i refused seafood and tea
but one night i tried, god help me
scallops and i craved them between
the yearly trips ever after. i haven't had
the good ones in  years, but that one step
began a life long love affair
with seafood.  we three girls
sat quietly or at least sat
 for the meal's
duration. i can't remember a single thing
about them, that's how wrapped in my skin
i was as a child. does anyone  remember more
than a facade of things we should have done
or glimpses of a cherry oak in the backyard
where summer climbing was the only escape
we needed, no one worried some one
would come up and snatch us out of the backyard
or shoot their guns off in home made firing range
we played ball from the girls and boys club
got ourselves there on our single speed
pork pie seat bikes. our parents
stayed home and did home things
and most of us came back from the outside
alive. now it's illegal to let your ten year old
go free range, or take care of his five year old
sister for the few block walk from home
to park. you can't use the eight year old
who beat a stranger's baby to death when left alone
with it and five other children as example of irresponsibility.
don't try buster.that dead baby's momma
 needs a dose of get into jail free after
she done leave her baby in that situation
to go to the club with her friend the mother
of the child that snapped. i dunno. she too
gotta get some kind of charge like sterilization i mean
ain't five enough? beyond take her babies now.
shakin my head my friends, smh.

downbad doubleplus ungood.















*)))).....

sardonically  heard a radio broadcast today
about the power of collaboration , remembering
how the flow was nexxussed into the vector we lived
the first wave of internet existence. now
hunger fed, we languish in the dens
puffing, stuffing
but not getting high. it all rolls by
like smoke in the sinse or dens and warrens
frequented by the hip
gone south, with dad bods
sportin process died hair and cupcakes
in their leotardsunder fishnet burqas.

why tattling is not the worst thing
you can , you could join
the zombie march on an eliticpal
see you can' even spell it but no
an elliptical, would be kinda awesome
t just bur down these fat m iddle years
to the lean body i want for my fnal days
skeltal
approvching light speed. abd wgi wiykd tge tatke
bem oh story tellier of high degree
unless it's been on no tv, you gran and turn
in your seat, headachy, and i am runnign out
and way down, i could do this all day
but i'm tired and lttle girls
get up early in the morning
to play dolls on doll days,.

bridge competition

your mother won't ride
in the car with me
over that bridge anymore.
i've laughed once
too often at the phobia
and just the other month ago
a mail truck was torn apart
by a waterspout on its southbound
lanes. whew! that was close
she'd not say, no she'd say no
fuckin way i'm going over that bridge
people died right next to it
i can feel their arms reaching for me
its the only way i can explain
knowing the terror of driving to the apex
and into the foggy sky,
the next solid thing
is the sea and momma  they want me
to join them and gods are full of spite
i bet there was a letter for me in
that truck and now i'll never get it
i know a warning when it comes
listen can amalee come to thanksgiving
at grandpas? she has a car now
and she says she'll drive me
the long way round
and i know you guys will all
make it just fine
since i wont be there
so that's how come
you're riding with gramma
down to ms reenie n pop pops
to go fishin and swimming
for thanksgiving. just be sure
to eat the turkey.

the algorithm of loss

i tried to do an algebra problem
and failed. i once made a's. i didn't think
i would forget so easily or that hoping
for slight brain damage would eventually
straighten itself out after 50-not-the-new-forty.
jimmy, you know i miss your wise advice
but i wouldn't make you dance in the headlights
like an armadillo about to be squished
just so i could recall the things you told me.
anyway, thanks for introducing me to the poem.
i never knew her till you kept pointing
out she's not some mannequin i get to dress up
she's living, he's breathing. did you hear about
the cis, ciz, zher shit? i wanted to pioneer gender
neutral language but now it's gaining traction
i get offended, wonder why we need new fangled
words. you and i did fine parsing out
the fems from the fags, butchies and straight eye
queer like your best friend but hung
like my lovers.
meh, i sowed it, watered it real good too.
i just didn't realize it'd taste like okra and tomatoes-
gooey yet pitted, slimy yet chewy with
an aftertaste of goodforyou.
makes wonder what a bowl of pc poetry
would taste like, covered in chocolate milk
and no, that was not a metaphor for black people
it's just my favorite kind of milk. pretty skin color too.




















**&


remember when gramma came over
and played with you in the room at the front
of the trailer? the boys kept getting in the way
but she found a pair of wings on the floor
and made you a butterfly. she brought you a gift
in a pink bag with violet tissue paper. inside
were three of your dolls from her house
but no sleigh
how will i get to your house with out that?
you pouted. open the present silly.she laughed.
doll furniture, made of wood. an entertainment
center, a tv, table and couches. a floor lamp
with a tether ball . a pink stereo with detachable
speakers. you arranged it all around
the doll house walls and threatened the boys
with dogbites if they messed with it.
onyx crawled under the bed.
gramma play faierie with me. i'm the fairie
and you're the child walking in the woods
i'm sitting on this rock with my baby
and here you grabbed the homemade doll
on your shelf
and you don't really notice me at first
until the baby starts to cry. so gramma
says oh! i didn't see you there.
your wings are lovely, but ...
what are you?
a faery.
no!
yes, and this is my baby. gramma
takes the babe and kissed it then
turns around so you can ride on her
back. she whinnies all
the way to the door then sets you down.
the baby is on the dresser and says
me too! so she gives him a ride
then says goodbye
congratulations on a stellar report card.
may it be the first of many.
and that is the poem, that is the life
how to make that art, how to fice it up
so it carries more than a scene
played in a thousand thousand houses
the myriad ways that grammas
fall in love with past brought present
in your new eyes. does that get old as well?
how does the energy just evaporate
while laying by the pool watching you
dive and swim and talk
run from playground to water and back again
with an impromptu gang gathered
this bright november saturday afternoon
at the edge of your global warming, america.



















()))___________















people still point out the dividers. i love how nat showed us how to really use em.
the thing i've always been good at is popularising the conceptions of others.




























































*((((((here's what age does to me. sometimes i think it's like crow's ssri burnout syndrome. everything has taken on a dull patina, china smoggy memories struggle to breathe, except the darkest ones that creep like heavy water into my landscape. strontium ninety. the chemist could tell me if it's suspended in liquid. i have logorhea and constipation at the same time. it helps not at all to write on the toilet or of the toilet or things that go in it. and my honey's back so







































****

that's a wrap.

acronymic

smh at the sot
potus, scotus, all of us
 gac if the charge is negligence.

blm, alm, you tell me there's
no difference but have you
ever been stopped for wwb?
i mean really, wwjd? get into the shoes
of the oppressed man, give em some fish.

i been reading r/reddit. everything shorthand
beauty = porn, tl, dr? synopsis at the bottom.
i mean we know you have mittd. a ticket
in your box, a core to unlock.

how's it gonna be
when you don't know me anymore
higbwudkma? right?


drifting down the river
a leaf that fell from your fingers
a flower petal, traces of oil
swirl out from its edges, like
galaxies colliding.

atm they tear into each other
 you are no longer
 who you are,   soldier,
banker, artist, mp. changed
by awesome,stretched and careless
as time-you are the curl
reduced to pieces signifying a whole.
rip and roll and gop.












+++++++++.






you wrote to escape
but when they found you
inside the poem your fingers
went on strike, your tongue cleaved
to the roof of your mouth, thoughts
evaporated to salt. you don't
want to know how stupid you look
or the way you have to hold
your eyes when that part of the song
comes around. at least there's chocklate
in the cellar. and you found out
you weren't unrecordable after all.

write this down, they said.
you look for your book
tear out the images
remember that poetry
only lives if someone reads it.
so you read it. then send it to jack
who ceremoniously burns it
in his backyard on the full moon
and buries the ashes in the trash can
where you know you will at last be safe.






******







tonght the sun was down when i left the building   rain made the day dull, so we couldn't gloat over nice weather but it wasn't cold so there's that. afterglow  hung in clouds to the east while the western sky
was a  grey blanket burning under its edges. .i wondered if satellites saw the fire and who they could notify to put it out. but then the world turned a few seconds and the fire died. i thought about how your brother died on the plane,flying into the sunrise and no one in the family knew what happened because dying on a plane that didn't crash is not something you think about when your brother goes missing on the way home from another country. you think about kidnapping, or lostness or injury not