Thursday, January 02, 2003

OBSERVATIONS AT THE INSOMNIA TOWER

historian Rhiannon is so exotic looking this morning
painted eyes a dark blue shade of black
and a lot of side long forbidden glances
take her to the flats where the pubic stubble shows under the snow
abandoned rail cars burning, smoldering
smoked chinook trout or tanning hides or even chokecherry mixed with bear fat
my life has been shaped
by the petty rejections and stains of ejaculating on old carpets
adoration and false worship
observe the holy war
justice demands our rights

Y O U ' R E N O T P E R F E C T - is what the ego screams

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I look up and shape the mouth to taste the hunger
you're the face of love I like you

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Did you say you were leaving in your sleep -
can I overhear your dreams besides the pillow talk -
forgive but how could I, I know exactly how I got there
and when I die forgiving is a subtle act of unwanted mercy

Y O U ' R E N O T P E R F E C T
I want to
hope now.

I apologized for the roaring madness, genuflect
she shrugged "just look at you -"

we could meet in the tundra
where the treacherous boulders between the townsite
and the bay
gather stagnant water

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Moved along the closed territories
security guards block ways

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final.
They break the day
search the accessible leaving the hidden
revealing their corruption
so close the door and pull the drapes in this tiny cabin
the Polish couple show no fear
men over all
a laughing salute from the demi-goddess messenger.

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That foreigner, that dog
was so cruel and that never
occurred to her . . . Still

the bit lips saw stench passing the inside out

the mucous spittle streams
flushed away are stillborn
(aborted) silences

If you say you'll kill me, do
you really mean me

It has been foretold earlier.

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Lift every voice
the same refrain
no chorus of many
solo wail

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After
I have a cut on my lip
I kind of don't mind
This is the list of what we've done

destroyed the architecture of a conservative life
throw out all the mother's food putting mould in the refrigerator
ignore the sons as far worse than our own enslavement
cultural genocide pumping shit into the mind
manipulate the sickness clot love a
twist the truth chew
imagine the unreal we can because you're a historian

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you're so desperate lie . . .

I'm sort of angry

there is no hope, talking

hope is a belief

Choose

and vacate, the most apathetic is Hope

vague deluded abstraction

tongue is a name.