Thursday, September 23, 2004

Piggy Taking Inventory

Thou earth mother
whose art made a heaven,
hollow is thy name,
hollow as a donut hole
downed by Dunkies sugar suckers

Across this dirty BVD
they come in, saltless and mean,
sucking dry for purple and orange
styroafoam cup containers,
cattle car crates of donut holes,
great salty sea-vats of caffeine,
akiline and molten H20;

See their blood boil
Tremble at the knowledge:
To know is to burn

High blood-sugar zonks
the dust of freedom
moldered in solo donut hole
clusters. They cram their gassy
gutter rollers up to the bar,
slamming their BMW brakes,
coming to a halt, dead-walking
out of the morning light into
the Orange Coated Cluster Pill,
pulling Dunky air in behind them
in gentle whorls of ache ...

Piggy needs to take inventory, Piggy needs to take.
Not so lean and snaking mean, she sucks down
a donut hole as her last breath
and testament to the desert ...


I dreamt of your skull & crossbones
and it read me like an X-ray machine
as you lay there, the master,
in our silence and slumber:

I skulked about the place

Lightning last night;
It licked the world mean
and Piggy called six times,
six! Just as we had discussed
the ghost dancers' return,
the rent of the buffalo,
the assassination
of Sitting Bull

Just as plasma fields, unified,
rippled in the chemtrail orange sky
as it tumbled up and angry roll
of pressure and purity
friction and dread.

Piggy called six times, six!


You said the desert sheds
us of our vanity
as the wind blew a scare
up the trees.

You awoke in a stir
of anger and vengeance
raving about "The Law Of 3s."
You awoke in a stir
and everyday I wonder,
why Gaia? Why? So nurturing,
so pure. Why so angry? Why!

Tremble to know the angel
of vengeance: To know is to burn ...

You said something about the dark,
but light was everywhere
in a system of pretty pearly stars


Piggy crossed the desert in a Humvee
moving eastward fast, loaded down
with software and stolen sacred relics,
as her brother Jacob threw beer cans
along the long, twisty road, northeasterly ...

Piggy crossed the desert
and the mirage followed her:
A man made of metal, in a mod
fright wig, shreeking laugh,
a blast of gunmetal, modal fire,
schist, plaster, a blast of rock.

O man, you left a mess,
tore it all up out of spite,
what a waste, this scorched earth,
bedding tossed like a body
into the garbage pail pile


Knocked to my knees
but bleeding clean,
Man rises and thunders!

Three a.m., O son of Sam!
She didn't consider
that castle re-enter

When all is dark.

The message:
Clear. Clear out!
Gaia scooped me out,
sucking the cold, even,
out of the refrigerator!


Piggy needs to take inventory,
Piggy needs to take.

She leaves Ulysses on the shelf
a misquote from Sir Thomas More ...
flower petals on the white tile floor.

Then you hear that sucking sound
Then your hear
that sucking sound

Coming down the highway, Whoof!
The missing inventory includes
but is not limited to:

Three red maple leaves from Walden,
one copy of the Grapes of Rats,
one moonbeam, one bolt of light,
lots of lights ...

"I am the light taker of the world!
There shall be no
interior lighting
without me!"

Lightbulbs missing. More than just three.


Ozo sam
Urizen Man!
Christian saint,

O, house full of pain

Twisted rock
upon the oak
the river bends,
it bleeds and dries

See them, over the expanse,
the hot rubbered wheels,
the Holy lands: The Bull is rising,
O, Don't mess with Tex!

Of e-mail shouts,
the doctor is out
Piggy has left the bulding
crossing state lines,
crisscrossing America

O house full of pain!
Urizen man!
O Christian Saint!

A road made of sand!

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Portrait of a Suburban Legend as a Young Man

Street skates ply the highway
leading to the lost children

They line up in court
after scarring their arms
with bursts of blue blood
and butane

Skateboard dude. Holy ranger.
Stiff shouldered, with close-cropped hair,
lanky as a sorrowful willow,
standing at attention,
sulking in regret, hand-bound,
the silent rebuke.

Stiff shouldered, snearing wise,
the great white defendant,
in nasal tremors, flares,
stares, surrenders the deed,
the vice, the miscue.

The lawyer shouts, in xenophobic
redoubt: Tall soliders, unite!
Vivi livi o muertes!
O, Lost children of sight!
But the judge hands over their
car keys, then, pleases them
with their rights.

What is truth, O judge
What is truth? They challenged
him, this Romeo, this stalker
with a guitar, strumming
on the sidewalk, who slept
in the desperation of this city's
plastic grace, this suburban
meatlocker of convenvience
and shame, where they
pop cold pills like candy,
then get suckerpunched
by gun-toting dads
in their SUVs, and O yes,
the cops, old Cyclops,
watching these streets,
the machine eye
loading this motherlode
of video games and hormones
and fear onto the conveyer belt
of justice, O yes, your justice, sure.

They hand over their rights,
compliant souls, one by one
They hand over their rights.
Compliant souls. One by one.

They take the deal
then spin roller wheels
down the photo radar lane
lusting and loitering,
lingering, in love.