Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Monday, May 25, 2015

Campenella's Utopia

Oh cherub
 Oh rubber parody of the bare ease of spring
body afraid of mending as rival militias mend / Dissolving our western selves in the interest of survival
A new book is out, about the luxury of foraging, the luxuriously hip wilderness, did you liken the risk  of too casual an existence to Odom's Cave,  the way black women saunter into danger like preordained saviors, like the club was the underground railroad   and   maybe...      afraid all our ideas behave like rhymes, too final, chicken grease    in  a dim        in Adam  —   Oh barely  entered summer   we plan to scorch    with mumbled confessions—      that was me    bent on producing another kind of man through the mobilization of rituals that had no value yet        
That better have been me

Friday, May 15, 2015

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

God and the Devil in Black Music

It allows them to repeat their destiny (overheard theory of the chorus)  / the successful restoration of abandoned buildings (this isn't working in Detroit or Los Angeles)  / the rushes and stoppages  /     sin      and bottled  water       until  the ladies  fell over like ten  pins   tin  pan     him    and       when     him   is    simply     a metaphor for the cotton curtain   (don't answer that)

   Pleasure  torments me sometimes like I'm not worthy or too worthy, god or a prostitute.  I never wanted to judge my sister, for selling her body for freedom and dope fiend that she is proof that you can babble beyond good and evil and still split them into enemies in love like mom and dad, but I would borrow niggas from the pawn shop and beat them black and blue until the cops are high fiving me     leadership   be      the recurring  nightmare  of the    clean   slate   coon   I     blooming in some ecstatic meekness    

Isn't this another way  to pray  he  says   turn  around        Ornette Coleman  version    together    we know     all the winners and all their lyrics by heart  like sheer titles  are   far   to be stiff    drink    up         wake up in purple velvet    and   lost track of the difference    between a gun   and a microphone   when   Sunday   waits   for its bones  to break  as gardens   do     

You can be up to your boobies   in gardenias and still be on the plantation