mother

mother
of all blank stares
a dice roll won these words
slap in the face worth palmful of admonitions
spoil on the ground like marbles
each reflects the limitations of glass, like a man falling
so much of what
we no longer want swims
in the atmosphere

proof that slavery is in the pudding

class divisions are nonexistent in a palm
we all stood that way, spraypainted golds and amethysts
but in amount of sailing experience needed
how willing are we to toss it all to the dogs?

I crossdress Marx again in an either/or
mixing a poem with puddle jumpers, egg beaters and galoshes grown talons
tapping the genocide on the highway for signs of life