day 144 (march 12, 2018)

….fierce eyes
bringing my
words back again
wringing dry
clothes washed in blood
reminding the eye
of the colors set deep underneath
“didnt your mothers have sex?”
she demands
“and didnt your mothers work?”
“and so why you think it so bad
when sex
and
work
be brought together by our mothers?”
“but what about the children?”
asks an ivyleague rescue operation
“they ours”
she says simply
“to protect and parent”
 
and yet…..
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day 144 (march 12, 2018)

day 143 (January 29, 2018)

….pouring out words
as libations
for hidden readers
like
moten calling to
friends
in secret societies
nonlinearities making
white see red
like
grammys straining
to make sense
of mumbled rage
trap -ped in rapped verse
unwrapping hearsed
sensibilities
until reality
is
dead

and yet….

day 143 (January 29, 2018)

day 141 (January 24, 2018)

predictive iphone poetry using trump as starting root canal :

…trump isn’t the only way trump has to do that with him soon again he was not trying trump and he said trump was going trump and he said he would have a chance and then trump and trump was a white one and he was going trump and he said trump was going to be a white one and he was just putting the money back and then he said he would have a white trump and he said trump was trump and he said trump trump was trump and he said trump trump was going to be trump and he was going to be a white one and he was going to be so late and trump was going trump and trump was going over trump and he said trump was going to be trump

and yet…

day 141 (January 24, 2018)

day 140 (December 9, 2017)

,,,i realize
that real lies are only
reason composed to
lose composure
fucking with measure sothat
avant-garde is co-opted into
trendy hashtags
that will soon swipeleft
and pixelate into tiny dots
floating eventually outofview
i realize now
that real lives are only
treason composted into
socialmedia trashheaps
and
theonly revolution
will be the one
that will be selfied
at armsreach

and yet….

day 140 (December 9, 2017)

day 138 (october 13, 2017)

….what good are these words
if they dont tear out your eyes
grind into dust the rest of those lies
and then
spit on
cavarneous bloody sockets
that refused to see
even when retinas were attached
to nerves connecting
one hole to the other
no interpretive language inbetween
no color to be actually seen
justsomuchmothafucking
selfcontained circuits of logic
that
my words
would dribble right through
emerging finally
from orifices
that are edifices
of purity
ima bitedown hard though
to mix blood with saliva
so when i finally spit this atya
itll course through veins
like an iodine test
reddening yo anodyne
until
you too spit out blood

and yet….

day 138 (october 13, 2017)