Festina Lente

for dawn will
find us

among tracks
meaningless lines
among steel
blocks rotting
brothers to
our ancient
gods among
broken glass
and scraps of
printed word

dawn will
rise

from disfigured
black piles resting
beneath gray fog
luster fixated rubber
hearts melting clusters
white curling round
skinny sleek
frames

dawn will
rise

over sickle celled
moon our corrosions
hidden cycles
old and new
a poor mans fall
through dusks
deep blue

big bellies big
night lead us
eyes astray huddle
quite nohomes into
alleyways Over
subways tagged in
epochs wide expanses
that mix up our
nine to five
clocks advances

quite city
searching

will find gates
horned with liquid
tar holding life
huddled in bones
matter to call a home
from creeping down
six feet

twenty-four hours
till next round

Keep moving

To study econ

Micro

my small minds econ
quiet under kapitals
destructive thunders

Macro

small economies
crumble under kapitals
destructive thunders

Thirty-three rows of florescent splendor setting cherry tomatoes aflame

Walt Whitman once stalked these shelves eyeing little boys
with Ginsburg close behind

then veganism slit their their throats started selling America's new noise

all kool kids hang on designer hooked denim
while Betty Crocker box speak last night b-ball game

an incident of smoke and tears for fears an illogic all its own
the music goin' down here ain’t nothin' but silent porn

all the kids in dem jeans be keepin-it real just fuckin' on that beat
sliding hands over each other's repression

just suckin' on that meat

this contemporized style is for everyone that knows
the men they all be Gatsby's grabbin' up dem hoes

Those hoes be selling shakes (dick tricks) for buyin' fancy cars attraction
loves those million dollar babies who use coke to cover dady scares

product life and simple answers
placebo guns killin’ linoleum plain’s game

Temporary

is happiness stacked on white shelves
found convenience in modern temples

and new heaven has a Greeter
whose “hello” keeps us

all the same

Redcloud Word:Ammo

quite are the sounds
falling out my mouth like rain
moving up in winds

particle words in
bathtubs make the syntax of
skin clean once again

words accumulate
meanings hidden between lines
that my eyes can’t see

*Untitled*

her insides flat
contain hard white
edges cracked
and drained of origin

a diameter that was full of breath,
beating hearts and lungs
is now a home where nothing
lives. This two
ounces of skeletal
light, their last
memory. White

sky walls
carry a costal breeze
up over her head
as she pulls
the fragile body
out from grains of sand.

“A sand dollar,” she says.
Smiling gently, placing
this of all life’s missed
fortuities between a humble
bulge and the elastic band
of her bathing suit.

Fire on the Mountain

We are those who only live at night awake because we see the fire spreading across the small brown mounds of scrub oak and sage towards the blanket of arched city brights our hands are shutters clicks and lenses sectioning off chunks of midnight heat from the different angles hanging in the august air if death happens to slip his hand through the neighborhood through the woman through the men through the children our memories are staged to capture this lust and we are not afraid to take charcoaled flesh home in our heads or to hang it on our walls like fathers sporting trophies.