'Red, White & Blue, in Red'

human privilege is the right of choice
& urge to learn—

o the money
you funnel up

no one will take your bullet
billionaire
fuck

experiment 216: pipeline

funneltunnel, face to face
your skin clearly 24 years old

& i love yr hair, o--
fitting between cruelties
of our times & cohort effects
i forget my tumescence is mine,
like worrying about it even happening
this hall of slabs
cantor warning, imam floating
proxemic.

are we divided?
you scatter as i slide
in shapeless sex.
digital smile in pixels
i touch,
buffer & roughen, blink alcohol down
& you’re smoother than before;
my ingrown hairs, bumpy thighs,

scratch a mosquito bite.
Blood center pooling
in coconut oil,
a hair springs out.

I got naked in the parade of bag pipers cut my body with the glass that was thrown at us & wiped my blood all the fuck over him before the police tackled me.

In the face of a Fear, castigat ridendo mores.

Joy unshaded by fear's an exercise
of bravery, disciplined rebellion
an existence of greater compassion,
love in the face. a necessity carved
from monolith wealth's deceptive marble
so sumptuous but for frigid baroques,
but barriers boasting shadows of shame,
no caress, no one's friend, a soft mommy
whose love through all your petulance somehow
grows for you.
          Embrace, take broken dad down.

We few who align in freehealing care--
small perversities of understanding,
though our medicine cushion brains disown
radiation of ignorance, though ours,
violent division, ours, empathy
ours, man en masse, our grown-over system,
(the damn thing), ours, as discolored people,
whiteset beads unfeeling in currency,
eyes full of cash, crusted over with it--
all ours. Real is the man in our hearts.
Purple luna illuminates denial,
the false doors of regret, quantum being.
Her grace to hold our multitudes,
uphold whole vials uncracked of broken
sisters alike.
          No, there is no evil.

All unforeseen illnesses, yet-to-be
organ failures & obstructions. They drink
deeply. We drink because fuck it, we can
fuck even when our bodies won't work. Joy--
a shameless channel of motivation,
light to eschew fear's puckered ignorance,
its damning cacophony, its powdered
clown wig face made over in dementia,
bloated by the dull press of death's abscess
incapable to recognize absence,
dull palate of resistor embrace denies
& starves pulsating, capable brainstems.
Awareness, in joy--
           the flux of presence.

cebolla verde

to identify

my weak core

& surround it

with more

me

ajo verde

he is not polluted enough
with common things
a 'bubble' of gold
where the segregated
segregate further,
unfolding to weakness
and pain

Providence

be goddamned
if i'm a whiny do
nothing this yr