(i need a gymnasium sized room

with stacked televisions

and a selection of wooden bats

and 20 minutes to do my thing)



bus bombing in Tel Aviv

blame Clinton for the WTC

ignore what's happening to

the economy



cheesy banners - heh - "Recovery"

feed the sheep the hypocrisy

luckily cows and sheep don't read

gobble Cipro, to the Midwest flee



in an air base, all the paymasters

far away from the disasters

later on mr. woodward writes

mr. bush got it exactly right



mangled syntax, mangled words

remember though, saddam gassed the kurds!

sorry, ma'am...and if we kill your boy

gas your ride for the ROI

What I need is a secret clone. We'd work in concert, fool everyone into thinking we were one person, compare notes at night. Take turns working during the day and goofing off at night. Share designated driver duties. He'd play bass in the band. A mysterious figure, always wearing a mask, his voice would sound uncannily similar to mine.



He'd possess a magic, self-replenishing wallet full of 20s and 50s. A cracked, utterly ordinary looking affair, rumored to have been owned by Bob Marley, the wallet would have in any case accrued mystic power from wilderness lands unknown, its goodness shining like a beacon visible only to clones.



On blustery days, unknown to anyone, the clone would periodically sidle around the side of a building to let the bills course from the wallet's flap down the alleyway like soap bubbles from a plastic wand.

What you have failed to learn

is that for every bullshit action

there is an equal and opposite

bullshit reaction



Filthy, tattered pink gown

on the empty congressional floor

Mass schizophrenia

funnelled into dead cell phones



Watching those towers

explode on TV

And explode again

upon replay



How many copies of the wall street journal filtering out in that death confetti stream?

They said the fire was so red because of all the people in there



another box of Pabst for the choir.

pass them cans around.

don't worry, they're cold.



aren't the colors great? great to hold them in hand to drink from

and believe in



well, okay, I guess that's still in the cards



at least until they steal another fucking election from us

smoke broken methods

repair starfish heart

deliver eyes to darkness

lids attuned to pixel drone



skull full of oysters

locust husks containing

yet animate phalanges

papery resolve



smolder, twitch, crackle

fire in your trash can

one hundred fools passing through

your living room



much, much easier

when ill-defined agony

was of girls, bus stations,

eggshell cluelessness and yearning



oak tree silent, half-rotted,

remote, not profound,

ignorable mass of acorn gristle

organic bellcurve swarm

smell of something living and rotting too



sun's coming up tomorrow

far as anyone knows



sitting on a long stone wall and loving

how the light

fires mahogany hues

in her dark hair



that was you, motherfucker



(now I've gone

and gone

all madeline l'engle

on my own ass)



sitting and loving her hair

in the gold light

the mahogany hues



(that was you, motherfucker)



sitting and loving in the light



sun's coming up tomorrow

far as anyone knows