Happy natives dancing
Hunting deer and antelope
smearing their facepaint in sweat and decadence
That tears are european
From where love and theft belong to grow up together on this prototypical neighborhood farm territory of the karma mantle where I go on like a trophy displaying my gold for the company as it wrangles over the fire a type of fire mirror holding them together at the urge of the competition
Practicing for the tip of the moral element: air, shore, which must
be ignored -- sycophant, projectionist
There are so many regions I refuse to think in when the anthropology is talking about me a millennium from here, my rabid electricity, my primitive attitude toward machines and social mechanism, insinuating the machines themselves are the giddy natives dancing and we break them in the radial way we say it, insinuating that happiness came too easily, of blindness, that the nativity was an accident of hunger and the hang drum, that the movement was a spell for numb words
If your syndrome is analysis, mine is the moving picture nestled against it dwarfing its own echo or swell.
When you take me to the movies we sit still and nobody shoots
at us
The other
woman
sits
in the dark mechanics of herself declaring all the pseudo-places we've held together like 5, 6, seven, 8...
To live outside the law, you must be honest
