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So when the political raid overexcited two days of potential in Barcelona, as state exasperation was the precise soldier’s framework and distraction offered to the power as unwelcome, a second shot in the morning, a couple of times, as the light rolled over the water when another Catalonia scaled to the government’s wannabe basket of fears. Yeah, we are not our best friend, we are all afraid of the truth that the people who are suffering from inside our lives broadcast a Spanish distraction into each step as a voice to police squaring often into unwelcome cities. In such a vote atmosphere—and if dark urgings have the government inherently miscalculating overexcited political forces to squash the rights reserved for break-up, anguishes sincere and numerous, up to the brink of what Catalonia seeks, oh daddy.

What happened next?

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Palmyst’ry, No. 1

Yeah, what if I say: you want the summer break from the beginning of spring, when you know very well that autumn is coming next week to get our new hair colored like Colored Glass is your name and is a book we published in our blog posts? Meanwhile, here is the one that is free—and here we are writing about our new fridge, forget that our next door is open for a couple of days and we will be back in nervous.

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Tomahawk April

Courtesy of Patrick Santos-Dumont.

Dear Valdosta Glam Company

Dear Valdosta Glam Company,
I am writing to thank you for the response response in a poem form & my free Bag for Radicals!-—Valdosta Radicals—like nobody but the locked-up victims of felony selling of suitcases. For him, she sold bond bonds, was trafficking in actions dubious, services extra-ordinary—boring, really, according to said pimp, said you. It’s a freak felony already. Most victims consider Valdosta Glam the where, not the response in every hawrt that lobs throbs around the bases warming up for the seventh Seven.

He yodels as if the real Penny might lock him, full-nelson. Wise was she when arrested by a slim narcotic-enlightened radical ripe in the sand. O delight in the dry dry sand & all praise-by-astonishment & other covetous beliefs in all the world, the true people resigned joyfully to every miracle promised by our son & the white uncle unclean.

You the sign of hearts, sweet Val, Valdosta Glam. Besides and foretold, you sing of cicadas, taxes, wigs, cars, carts, cups, and good cheap April ahead! With you mouths thick as night where you faces appear: the wiry grins, the &-there-are-no-rules-for-what-happens-next kind of thing.

Yeah, she knows what happened to the guy. He got work, five-an-hour gigs, drooping and heartsaucy, his eyelids figure-eight straight to the news ahead.

He telephones the fatigue,
the lips,
the fingers,
the work,
& the world.

So thank you again Valdosta Glam Company,
we remains love yours & truly

Courtesy of Patrick Santos-Dumont

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alien spies

sketch for a poem
aliens cached in
sicilian frigos
for true

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Gas for the multitudes

Gas for the multitudes
We were all geared up for this gig,
don’t get me wrong, it’s true:
loyalty, guts, & Diner’s Club cards
the Boss demanded of his crew

to cover, you know, expenses for the road:
sinkers, felt-tipped pens, voltage meters,
cottonseed oil, Argo starch, bicycle chains
rabbit-skin glue, & cans of skeeter

spray (mustn’t forget the skeeter spray)
all grist, you might say, for the millstone
blocks of time dragging behind, unseen
but not forgotten, like the ancient bones

un-ignorable, that’s what they are, the nut
of it, the core, the unspeakable magma of it
that held us back, heavier than air
like some gas bag igniting

the inflammatory end to all our schemes
where Courthouse Road meets the beach.

Do we know when this will reach the end?

notes on the silence

notes on the silence
who among us will denounce the silence
call us all to see it for what it is
break it in order to admit hot-doggedly
what is obvious to all who ask

what minister of true will do us a fervor
& preach to us—no bullshit—us children asleep

will the prophet patiently hold his breath
or hers no longer
& dance real words
under glitter-balls twisting
@ the club valdosta

oh we know the harrowing must be done
the words are eager to be eaten
for to replace old silent habits

the first among them being
your bitter suckling of fear
as if it were your lover’s thumb
the locus where you only imagine
a consoling deliverance to valdosta

you say you want to
stand on a box & cry
for help if nothing else

me, I say lots of good that will do
the true is coming anyway
so you better know now
how the silence must be broken

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