Your Mama Don't Wear no Draws

Words that we both know are what keeps you, on the stable floor, from the years I saw, nervously beneath you, and now we'll discover a cello with every word that we both know, in between a stunted flow, and I couldn't care less about your mother. Do you know that I couldn't have won so fair, just last year, and as a foreigner here, excuse my longing for a limelight and not a hope in hell, cause it's sad that I'm not at home. And if I change it's nice to know that soon, I'll change back to use words that we both know

(We was there when she took 'em off)

Society Gig

aristocrats among fiends and prostitutes
before the intellectuals, waiting til snow
falls and only then hiding. Signaling out for each its contoured tribal burden
until they come alive in one another like fountains and hints and we shiver, kiss wrists, fit perfect into a nightshift grocer's routine anticipation of hope for the conversation on earth. New York, will you give up your death for us like a mimic prophet buckling on the grid of yourself. Become less significant and more meaningful. Disappear to be everywhere I mean. Go against the delirium of reputation and become sane and empty the guile into a river and go on to hire detectives who will re-invent the suspense we run on as they solve the river for the static they inflict it with nerve. I dream of pirates bold enough to hide their time. Your thrills grow dull with glamor, theirs grow high on militant anonymity. My meaningful other. Block party, corner store. Celebrate the brilliance of wolves.

The Gospel According to Sun Ra/Everywhere Over the Rainbow

The Man Who Went to Chicago

If you think about me, and you ain't gonna do no revolutionary act, forget about me, I don't want myself on your mind

Poem for Speculative Pharaohs

A great free--
Soul for rent, faculty
trembled as those light score-board-speckled pamphlets about the audacity of disembodiment rippled in the palm wine tannins tempting culty ever since types: sycophants, climbers, to mercilessly reveal how time hurts in the speed of how you see in no time
What I'm trying say-- how you see it so and numb it total, patiently, trial after stoic trial until a child must exist. The inevitability of where we roam is where we get to. Shy arrivance accused of privilege and compliments until the circles got huge like black continent free souls for rent and we went on wanting
Obedience, to convince itself, of itself, but it didn't and so on and so on and 'all songs are crazy'

This is how we flower: avowal

Things we cannot see appear, singing songs we cannot hear

Value haunts our lives, they're chanting into the arms of riot police. These are at least embraces.

The trite machine gun wears its stupor into the middle of whispers like a testing/testing microphone and tells us so, sudden announcer, cotton curtains in the singer's throat and the blank stare in stereo of a voice inhabited by justice is so appropriate it disappears