Thursday, April 7, 2011


I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by greenback poison, punishing sweat

fastens the callused palms, rubbing deceased skin into fine powder, lacing

a bowl the bong size of Babylon Tower. Daughters in unventilated rooms churning

a thick never melt of races for an urinal scent teasing the heaving nostrils of her Big Brother,

who took a drag as exorcists arrive and slouches and murmurs and high sat by the door step reminiscing rock,

who wore skinny pants so tight that scrotums became scrota and reverse puberty,

who checked the equal opportunity box, unconscious of what lies, below, a million tassels swing aimlessly,

who were rejected by conglomerates sucking on arteries of tender necks and thighs illegitimate laborers,

who recovered passé tendencies, suicidal not to leap out the bright fenestella,

who drew arms in lecture halls, freedom, and painted scholarly faces one after another

with passion, with heaven, with survivor trauma, semi-automatics, double barrels, and endless bullets,

unrecognizable Lakeshore stranded in lush snow, abandon bus in traffic, grid marks dent across Millennium to the Drake,

a rest area in Denver no toilet paper for naked shit, or graffiti décor for opaque steam breaths, or gloves to pick garage grow tent hybrids baptized in blacklight, Santa’s zip-lock bags make eyes beady,

blowing O’s injecting spewing flicking stories and photos and hangovers and operating systems and withdrawal and ashes,

subcultures drown in selective processing for a hundred forty-four thousand propaganda curbside, street lights, billboards, project barrels illuminate starred sidewalk, holding back from sinking faces into the moist clay,

a horde of flesh eaters wearing three-p suits and cuff-links and polished shoe-tips, kick up their feet on mahogany,

who fancied the cuts to bully boys in public schools, metal detectors sound pocket knives unaffordable scissors,

who raged yachts through Bermuda, radioactive toro crawling under mortgage payments, the flippers

who caressed wife and mistress, hold up trophy sons, and honk again and again and again at the green left,

who jeered traffickers but invite escorts to hunting lodges Confederate reenactments in grandfather rifles,

who chanted hosanna as oil pipes deforest steel foundation of mother and nature,

who puffed a Cuban with no cutter, only hopes, that daughter might forgive him for leaving for a singer Kristina,

who stared at yellow wallpaper flat lined lips moan not once while rubbing her clit with bunny ears,

who held up engagement ring against the rainbow of Winston and light dimmed travelling through the prism tunnel scribe a fountain signature on the line,

who vanished into opera houses to hide lorgnette tears of afternoon teas and brunches at the Peninsula,

who wailed on their concrete knees in torn photographs and were kicked off the cliff sewing exit wounds,

who snorted line after line after line after line, resolute, wants the whole world chico and everything in it,

who prayed forgiveness on Sundays pouring clouds on stained glass mosaic, nude and lukewarm cross,

who dove in the snow end of outdoor sauna, surfaced in bath house of Roma, blood-shot eyes and dilated peoples,

who threw Diet Coke at Pacers bench and consequently pistoned his neighbor beat by Ron and torn jerseys, receiving instantaneous suspension,

who spooned on the dance floor held her wrists under the disco ball, asses drumming to the eight-o-eight,

who escorted fathers to masquerade orgies, exclusive to backseat limousines and to supreme judges,

and who courted buzzer-beater cocks circumcised for lion’s sensation of wild game hunting between cocktails and ecstasy and spanking dawn,

waking up later to squint a mosque on Ground Zero filled with true queens of men in leather shorts bracelet spike studded,

Pasadena parades and Mardi Gras, orange and blue and teal and anal beads, shakings the bondage of the soul, raving and stomping in the midnight chaos, trumpets and confetti as light as the moon,

with lords of war finally laid, and the last tequila shot sold at two A.M. and boom the baby generation dead and the last gunshot burial echoed through hearts of crows, a string folded to wrinkle a worm hole, and light-speed is distance bitch,

imagined drops of acid, hallucinating to and fro, hemispheres inverted so les ours polaires bathed in volcanoes, dripping

the intoxicated melt and angels clock our Time, carelessly aware, so lighting up another here what matchsticks cannot in nail-closed caskets,

the purple and gold faced, who stumbled in the cobble alleys and ocean penthouses manipulated by sync-programs and lost signals of a distant civilization, and infested with eggs of currencies,

who dreamt and crept through Judgment and Styx by paying the toll and stripped of jewelry and clothing, and pleaded with gratitude, remorse yet admit if there was a second chance, the world would not alter or conform to this tempo,

to instill a fractal difference and a Malcolm change and a wider security net that rebels cannot but will,

prolonged rebellion and insurgence in unison down to the last howling baby,

with the absolute progression to feed overseas accounts so welcome to nightmare.

[picture credit: Scott Campbell]

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