Wednesday, June 20, 2018

Invisible Summer Moons

The alienation of labor is almost  complete and my trance from it    is a feat of candor not dirty and deliberate  like machines dirty and deliberate like a     woman heroic with carelessness like   a worker of a loom moon blind like a municipality   and glutathione the antioxidant they take to go white as whales     the valve of hope in the   almost   in the alamo   is that it  can be stopped    that dread can  watch desire like its   prey and let us out into    space I’ve been led out into  space lured there like virgin remi   braids and endless shadows and there are    still roosters here little girls clad in dog   masks with fists in their mouths a perfect gay   couple whispering about Chekov into the hills chekov   soft as roosters while their boy child writhes hips criss   crossing with fists at the sun, moving like a gif come to shed its seconds into something eternal and vivid,  making it rude to look away and it wouldn’t be the first time the light was winning all mood   vanishing in the name of attitude all of us screaming this like matter baths joy   seeks  eternity     are  we its   good habit  or the bad   and do we need  categories in the invisible    where  blindness implies wholeness    by default they are shaking   chubby hands about it now children   shackled to the oars of slow boats like    the soggy caskets of all your weeping ideas      while space songs urge you to remain calm sure  that light is faster than disaster birth will split  their palms into feed for the broken factories come     native suns and nothing resists completion like a lie            all any man yearned to do now was believe this and resist it himself      and go crazy and tell everyone sell some records about telling everyone


This process alters the contents  of happiness The shadow we wished to  become is gone now and the famers listed    as murders are turning up alive  in its place  if    you reshape    desire you will  reshape the earth       they   whisper     hitting it   with the hoe’s    edge frozen in  their deepest moment of  provocation and okay with    it their bodies hoeing together    making a maze of guitars the strings   and cables and Billy Harper and asking    like it’s admit-it-or-be-cursed and forced into   another labor camp, what did you make today, show me ?     I used to think pimps were evil and lazy. I used to believe the white shade    was shedding me in moments of relief and exile we stuffed needles   in the blank and I saw my ranking in the compliance my way of    of confusing dread with desire my love of looms with my love of workers