being silenced––
a kind of
thick despair––where
profit proffers aid
not there

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New condo towers leer,
self-conscious on the river walk.
Lean lines of headlights glare over
entry gate, doorman, lobby-high windows.

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the cornet heath 
pulled on its invective
in jumpsuits 
​                     a cadre aspirates 

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we stand holding onto one another
watching as lightning slashes the sky
jumping a little with each new explosion of thunder

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the cost was high,
but there’s no going back—
profits move ever forward,
and every swindle has a future
​on the silver screen

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At On the way to the polls with Louisa & Charlotte the at 10:40, I mortify Louisa.  twilight’s I tap Brooklyn Borough President last Marty Markowitz on the arm and say, “Praise God!” gleaming Marty Markowitz shrugs.

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A slow but
irreversible
autopsy
was performed
until the last item,
the last memory
​remained,

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Then he squeezed milk from it, but it was already too cold,
and the kids didn’t want any,
Yet it would have been more
than stuffing peppers
with darkness and meat.

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they ask if I have anything to eat
then I invite them to the woods again
they say it’s awkward for them
​but they will do it if I want to

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pins drop over the city
the wind whistles 
to no verdict 
Take me sleep
protect me, like angel music

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there were some different interpretations
of “lasting peace.” Turns out graveyards
are peaceful for everybody. And once we
have enough money, prices go up. And up.

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There’ s enough museum space so we all can hang
Something that resembles a Jesus picks us off of buildings
And someone has printed this poorly painted picture
Places it next to the customer bathroom

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Listen, everyone has a voice, a voice that carries what you mean & what you do not think you meant & what you did not think you meant to do but did anyway. A voice that follows in the night. That deflects & is deflected by us/you.

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a strategy akin
to how the mind handles
a ghastly memory,
the kind that takes gallons
of whiskey to suppress.

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One second they’re the Voice of New Seattle,
the next you’re at their goodbye party
as they leave for the new tech job,
program directorship, librarian gig, whatever,
in the next hip city on the circuit.

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Miles of trees and bushes along Pilani​
Highway in Maui are smothered
with Kudzu until the landscape
has completely changed and lost

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Lots of paisley, glittery blazers, onesies​
Of bunnies, shirtless bartenders and happy zombies—
Where boys are girls, and girls boys.
Look, every year is a mix
​Of ugly and pretty, you have to do some mental tricks

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Try to hear
a vanishing echo
or see
through the fog
of futility

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There's no real air in any of these wards.
Everything is permeated with well-meaning poisons.
I stand at the window but the outside
may as well be a million miles away.

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to be the wrong king
the bark in berry amounts and blessing
 
that sad friend in the lumber yard
that miracle frown to bless the kingship soccer

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This world now seems measured 
With the pressure it takes a butter knife
​To break skin 

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Amy was the first to point out the extraordinary
unlikelihood of such thoughts occurring
to a dinosaur. She had lived a long time
as a human and understood more than most.

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They have handcuffed
our country, given it away
in exchange for money,
or renown, fame, an
ever-sloping speaking circuit.

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is it simply so simple
a journey of a thousand –
begins with a single death
​where each camp is a form of alchemy

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 Ideas have no groove. You don’t dance to them, you hustle. When someone says you shall have no more than your share (or less) and they put that in place, you are forced to get up and go.

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the trick is to coexist
            to own your body
            the actions of your hands
one morning, the lizard watches you

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and You are a Giant! greatfearsomestrong​
stuck subcompact bad intent! sub-tongue crouch
 
couched in fine print (lift) photocopy fraud
Threats repeated rattle sabers, clean out

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then it dawns on me that maybe
nothing at all had happened
maybe the workers at the r.v. place
are just too lazy to lift that
heavy ass goddamn flag

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When is the right time
to tell your daughter
about your abortion?

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One of the film's main musical
themes was illegal, the group of
upper-level undergraduates in
geography, sociology, & Chinese

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No great oak when shedding leaves, I’m losing petals quickly.
Not mites, not snails, nor even fungi; spots have grown where
Xylem stream, where tracheids work, where life’s excitement
Surges.

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Erase the stars from the velvet sky
Roll down the mountains, one by one.
Say goodbye to animal glamour
Soon we follow,
​painted ponies on the vaulted carousel

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​I've been singing the same song
since last April. finding new harmony.
walking around three months
with an ice cube on the tongue.

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I am sitting in the shadow of fortuitous buildings,
the Bhagavad Gita on my mind, but I am part of
no such embroidered parable. So much so, adventure
​seems hardly to exist.

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The songs are a civilization that at some point
Collapses, the singing dissipates
Into noise, the aliens grow thin
And blow out of our lives with the next thunderstorm.

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Flash back: a baby screams across the hall. Knock.
Knock, knock. It's father stone-faced towards the crib.
Don't touch. Do nothing. A non-action: flee.
Tales of furious fights. The child, un-held, 
continues to cry, as planned. 

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I have been waiting
for my turn to be sacrificed.
I wait to end my deer-like paralysis
from this cold-hearted culture
​hunting for sport.

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at the coffee shop sits a tattered poncho
a man beneath, voice like artillery shells
​fired from beneath a redbeard jungle

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