For a brown paper bag remix by Nobukazu Takemura

For a brown paper bag remix by Nobukazu Takemura

Bob your head like yes
To its perfect deconstruction
Barley loose enough to rattle you
Struggle to catch it

Send you reeling--cast out--pray catch
A hook you might recognize
Not quite..not quite..not quite

A metallic anti-melody trumpet
High-hat staggered lagging always behind
Almost coherent bass drop a peranoid beauty
Its sharp abstraction bidding you step to it

Will you

Tomb

All my words come from the same place, out of the same womb
They are the same words, the same words, reborn now and then
Oval burnished smooth words, obsidian dark or rose bud pink
Velvet curtains hide a plush room full of them,
All my words come from the same place

All my words come from the dark crucible
The place of inauguration, I have nothing beyond that
For it great reams of ink, great lines rushing out to fall heavy upon white paper outspread
For it surges and surges of text, limpid alive text swimming with potential
I would write volumes for this only, the closest thing to god I know

Why should I censure my voice

Just one waiting room for all my laments, where they attach
To form sentences, digging into their neighbor’s soft walls to grow
Pushing up my throat out of my mouth

There is only one thing I would write of
I am mad for it, it haunts my dreams
The fullness of it
The warmth of it
The passage of birth returning to death
That is the beginning and end of all these poems.

Padding

Padding

Spend you whole life
Padding
The sharp corners of experience
With a stupid lie of security
And soon you will end up
An absolute
Bore.

the dead eyed

The dead eyed

The dead eyed middle
Little souled man ladle
Spoonful’s of experience
One
At
A
Time

Into their broke bank
Dusty limpid dripping little
Men.

With nothing to blow blow blow
Out of themselves great torrents of mad expression because

They have
Been
Delegated
To
deletion

Go to work
Spare me
Your America

Justice

Justice

What of just us
Just our totality
Free of monsters
And the mist of mystery
Just us

What of the clean mechanism
Of mind, of flesh, of naked us
Creative interesting thoughtful us
Free unashamed humans
Sunlit humane generative us

Give me the straight shot
I weary of muddy Neolithic alienation
Masks of the gods, bloody ashen smirked
Lies upon lies upon lies olden lies
To tie yourself in riddles
The tales of children needing
Star stubbed blankets
The blind clinging fear struck sniveling gods
Away with them

Give me the good green earth and us
Made complete
Free well developed us
Let this be a creed

for the Wild International

Would you blot them
The screams of them
Would you silence the silenced
With-out mouths them
Bellies bloated from lack them
Without voices

You gut eaters
You pigs, vomit eating dogs
Smeared in blood and shit
Fuck you, suck lead

You have smeared them out
You the clean handed middle man
You do it, you did it
Erased them, the erased
The eyeless
You do it, you did it
Stich your eyes shut
Cut your tong out
Roll in ashes
You are a plague upon this good green earth

Keep talking with your bloody words
Your bloody books your
Bloody international your religion
So bloody built human sacrifice dripping with blood
Your governments so bloody your cops
So bloody your schools and libraries so bloody
Your television and lesisure and culture all bloody
Me too
Im bloody too and it make s me
Wild completely
I would fill men’s hearts with fire

poem

Do you think you can check out
Like at wal-mart
Turnoff and tune out
Like your big screen

Do you think you won’t hear
The screams of the
Guatemalan peasants
Of the murdered Cuban literacy workers
If you turn up your ipod

Do you think you can buy
Your way into nirvana so you can forget
The Afghan children who are daily burnt alive
The starving toiling masses who you squash with tanks
Every day every day every day every day every day every day


You can’t
Because they haunt your sleep
Your fiendish dreams are full of ghosts
Your trips to the mall are death marches
You can hear them in the spaces between breaths
You can see their twisted bloody bodies
Out the corner of your eye
Your stupid fashion cannot cover it
Your fancy perfume cannot mask the stench of their
Bloated corpses
And in the end
They will come in lock step
To claim what is theirs and there will be nothing left
For you.