In edifice of ants - serial, ongoing

no girls aloud

a resign reads, re

the posting you made on the inter rim

wanted, gray man, blood typed with fingers
a la old episodes
of ed sullivan manqué
the black and white of the screen ersatz silver
save ferrous to forge freedom, Ag abbreviated
covers tonight show clones

multiple choice ethics-- poll the audience--
limit your guesses to C

said the kidney to liberty, statued
it was a hard stone to pass
that rugby orb of the paleolithic era

remote control: shoot
with arrows
hit wife, will labor

Pantomimes of Kennedy, minus Super 8
on the sponge out in the fields
cotton picking pistons of man
stoop then appear then hold the sun back against their heads
become haloes quickly then down again
shot, but none fired
as if pulling earth to fit themselves into
the hole left rent between their legs

a bicycle centipede works French highway into the Pyrenees
hands wrapped tightly around
the steer
a wrestle to Rubix the ground

brushstrokes of birds ahead lean wind into
a quarried silence rises to again obscure
the sun baguette colored, readied
for the boasts of bodegas
stench of gas and gun slung, ripe with peanuts
a room around the bend sells for men

o you, hidden in foxhole proposals
a gorilla in your lovesuit quitting time
soirees in a china shop
consumerist plutarchs plunder your neptune out
there's more to a bottle than nipples and addiction
fresh in a new dress this can be your way out matched
lopside turvies mailed in a mound of aluminum dust
hide in the sun of Tromso
as the Arctic circles around your head
& awaits your blood

but red doesn't shoot from your waist
to get even open non perishables behind the church
and declare urchin
pumpkins beget vindictive knives
to wear a face i lose interior clothing

a glove is a gander
there's record of your god in pavement

i'm going to bring it back
"remember
Vanzetti"
mystory dis
solved in a bottle of Robitussin there's a peanut butter rollercoaster

languid twats and squirrels at rest in the park
far from guns

those who said poets write terror
throw away the wrong lives behind barbed wire

San Francisco Chronicles on July 17th
this two zero zero fiver
in an article
on Guatanamo
lifers missed their chance to publish
no book deals for men in beards, dirt their contracts
bared hair and the even the man ran

have in absence
of pen
paper is
of walls' use now
written in blood
poems of some 25,000

oppressors look like shadows
puppets when the sun is east to their likewise
lifesize is another blow
you holy to book one more interrogation
when pressed, up pressed the button
for two dictators to an island

enter gesundheit specialists to fix what's been nix'd
a quip on the why about the xsay what
i repeat, i did not get that
whilst the gesundheitened specialists are now rigid
with looks of men descend stairs in starched pijamas
nary a quietude among them
they check up der dare herd-- squeemish eagles
again, the sparks are what runs it, not da gas
Degas?
No. Da gas?
Daggers. what we spy through to see
mortality. no. them's weapons.