Sunday, November 12, 2017


because i carry no hope
the moon smears itself
on the trees
like a dirty soda can
from another notebook

on the tip of my tongue
an old feeling’s dream
i hate that word, “dream”
its glassiness of water
in pictures and nothing
under but tomorrow

what a rip, knot in my back
snowballing again
to replace my heart
w/ an amazon headquarters
and more yuppies begging
the super-rich w/ hashtag

please come ruin our city
we promise to help you
tighten the cement
one isolated incident
after another

year one has begun
it is luxurious beyond luxurious
it fits in the overhead bin
it bites my arm off
and pulls me into the sewer
home of the employee-employer
i keep waking up here

i unroll my tongue
like a red carpet
for socialism
we discuss thirst
we discuss the pesticide
in the wheat
we discuss our service
to a revolving door

a movement of people
in the rust of waiting
walk out, mouths opening
like the hands of a clock
running away from each other