|
MARKET
they were selling a
four stroke engine
piecemeal;
tomatoes and onions,
filthy plastic jugs,
cigarettes,
machine guns,
rags.
frenetic children
overwatched
by grim old men
who have seen too much death.
SPEAR
hunting by a red light
in the tall grass
this wavering drone
is making my thoughts squirm.
take flight
the dogs are running
i am in their midst
the thrust
sweating rictus
eyes shiny
MOHAMMED
out of a crowd
he was the only one
who did not ask for money
or a snack.
he told me how
he wanted to go to america
as we stood
in a living psychedelic collage
of garbage.
BREEZE
the wind reeks of filth
hot trash
human shit
corpses that popped at midday
it blasts my face
like leaning over a campfire
desiccates my eyes
cracks my lips
peels my skin back -
exposing bluing bones
to the biblical sun
BYOB
first crack of escaping gas
hollow tinkle of a ritually careless
bottlecap
bouncing off the wall
bitter and yeasty
the first swallow
is like the pleasant
after-piss shiver
you sometimes get
beer
beer
beer
let it flow like water
BUENOS DIAS
I woke to a breakfast
of hobbit-meat and waffles
After I scrubbed the night's loathing
from my face
I had a cup of Belgian Hazelnut adrenaline
to start my day off with a bang
The day was lit
by a fucking supernova
Donkeys and goats by the hundreds of thousands
stared balefully, growing more insane
with every swing of the stick
Children yelled for money
demanding paying for their presence
like unfucked whores
Entrepreneurs tried to sell me some frozen cholera
and oily meat from the overturned valve cover
of a 1990 volkswagen passat, red type.
My left eye boiled behind my goggles
and my testicles disengaged themselves from my loin
languidly and horribly running down my leg
coming to rest at the bottom of my trousers
It's too hot to masturbate
I'm afraid of what nitro-fueled dreams
may haunt me
during a two-hour power nap
under this terrible sun
APRIL FOOL'S DAY
safwan
tallil
samowah
najaf
kufah
hillah
baghdad
al thawra
spiked-guttural
hard consonants
mogul lettering
cities
that feel nasty
in my mouth
2140
2140 hours
a man was found by
soldiers
he was trying to elude
a checkpoint
mercedes benz, black type
ass naked in the driver's seat
smelling like mushrooms
riding shotgun was a
twelve year old girl
painted with streaks of seed
seed on the seats
seed on the floormats
the man was forcefully
evicted
from his black leather throne
eat some pavement
you fuck
she was tenderly led
to a gun truck
by the hands of blue eyed
white devils
infidels
sunburnt
2210 hours
police station
arabs
didn't
seem impressed
couldn't dig
why the americans
where so pissed
2220 hours
another man
enters stage right
claims to be her father
he pimp-slapped her
barked guttural
vomitus
of gulf arabic
turns out,
he wasn't her father
after all
joker number two
2245 hours
radio traffic
prepped the stage
interrogators
men with daughters
men with sisters
men with pens
men with gray eyes
2300 hours
they arrived
into the waiting arms
of bulldog
0100 hours
they are in a cage
for dogs
0730 hours
ah-chee inglee-zee?
no
i used sign language
to indicate
my desire
to cut his dick off
with my bayonet
m9 type
fuck cultural sensitivity
scum is scum
my spittle drips
from his calm face
no speaking,
avert your fucking eyes
subhuman
child fucker
1000 hours
your long ride begins,
habibi
jonesy is your keeper
KIM
my friend
kimberly
intellectual, angry
disciple of maynard
trained interrogator
joplinesque type
foul mouthed
i can
press her against
the wall
of a haunted place
my nimble, callused
hands
down her panties
buried in her fur
making her wet
fuck her standing up
in combat boots
little gasps
little whimpers
drown in sweat
lick a drop
from her ear
smell like pussy
behind a machine gun
21
twenty one years
off the grid
anarchist's cookbook
criminal
psychotropic desserts
raging against
administrators
librarians
pigs
the man
at nigh
twenty four
i am wielding
automatic weapons
and wearing the livery
of the man
the lines
between my eyebrows
are not from smiling
i feel old
anarchy is cool
until you witness
first hand
what humans
can do
for food
when the veneer
red tape
trappings of order
is stripped
from our eyes
twenty one years
of bliss
of ignorance
or pounding on
the onyx wall
with my little fists
only to finally see
that the wall
is what
keeps out
the dogs
REDEMPTION
fresh from a knife fight
hit the highway -
blackout drive
canal road
and the shit hit the fan.
in a second's time
(one mississippi)
three events occurred:
one.
a colossal boom
i felt it in my chest
a thought:
*improvised explosive device (IED)*
and time slowed
and perception widened
two.
left peripheral
black mercedes bullet
like a bat outta hell
three.
a slower mass
showering sparks and fragments
slipped past us
into the twin cones
of our headlights.
a little girl
wearing a flowered dress
was hanging from
a gash in the car
driver's side rear
her head was dragging
on the highway
pulling off her hair and skin
and the little car continued
it's graceful slide.
(time returned to a normal
thirty frames a second)
a horrible moment
eyes locked on a tiny
pale face
slung from the car
held fast by a broken bone
no sound
but the ticking of an engine
shrinking and cooling
for the last time.
a symphony of men began
armored turtle people
desert color
swarmed onto the stage
trained killers
began to save the lives
of innocents
two hundred meters up-road
joe was emptying
the black mercedes bullet
of ali baba, carjackers
zip tying
bipedal dogs
lie prone in the hot road
bemoaning their lot
one man had a hole in his head
his skull shone through
(fuck em)
i slept last night
dreaming of jackals wielding knives
children grinding
their skulls
on the conveyor belted
whetstone highways
i dreamt of fat women
getting tattooed by collapsible batons
skinny men
with skinny necks
taking vicious kicks to the head
i dreamt of pouring forth
fire and copper
i dreamt of redemption.
FOODCHAIN
the men in washington
send top secret faxes
to the men in tampa.
the men in tampa
email the men at the palaces.
the men in the palaces
radio men at the martyr's monument
who build web pages
for men at the intelligence compound
who print reams of intelligible
bullshit
for the men at the cigarette factory
who fragment and disseminate
slick matrixes
to young buck lieutenants
who brief
homesick joes
who just want to shoot someone.
meanwhile,
politicians squabble
empty-headed college girls protest
armchair generals yell at the RGB pundits
money is spent
wives cheat
people die
and shit blows up
just like on TV.
[Home]
|
|
