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Wednesday poem (from my notebook no edits)

Shame

I am full
of shame. All my work
is a forgery.

I don’t think
I’ve said
one important thing
in my entire life

I’m back in a body
crumbling
within the prism
of white supremacy.

Purity is for dummies.

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Ladies and gentlemen, better wake up and hijak these images. Don’t wake up too old for experience. You’re beginning to believe in the past detached from the body. I have found ergo I am dead. It is miraculous here Bush with a tail that sweeps the globe. Dollar based Euro based hallucination. Our damned birth is a form of continual shock. You’re not told what you can’t know and mental exercises are an exaggeration of suble truths. Here beneath the house of language a bat beats its wings in the shadows and a living drone investigates. It’s a gray day you can’t refuse: gifts of gods themselves in exodus. What’s left is a continual deforestation. Written though. A skeleton soaking in lambswool. Under the pretense of shattering snores every window is opened.
*******************************************************************************************
Social manipulation is not forced on the people. Drilled-in, and shaken. Are you listening? Indefinite and insincere your days are numbered. Late-mate drilled and nailed to the wall. Can you hear the operations? Sensory input is laughed off the tongue. Skip the opera these lines pull blood to the retina. A wrong sense of play and you are banished to the boonies. We are a metaphor within a marvelous body. You are the world’s most bitter conflicts.

*******************************************************************************************
This is a benign herd of words that supports a backward relief system. A delicious meal on the shells of the dead. Daylight reveals more of the shrine. Climb into me: don’t recall and don’t imagine. This reality: only cold mud can cure the leech-suck. As we go down we go up.
*******************************************************************************************
For hours fat men unfold from their seats and pin the map. This is a musical theatre and it is not a question of established traditions. Get aroused by the gaps in your ego. Gestures of broken heads = you must be thinking. Hell is visible in the scene speak. Drunk on evasion the fish are swimming in the bucket. Be weary of elegance.
*******************************************************************************************
All these years wasted in shame. Drunk more than a cupful and still drinking. How much you got? Sleeping on a fence of spikes and then up to my knees in shit. Proud of no-nation. They are all little shits. Human-time is disappearing from the universe. One light at a time. Can’t shake it out via Kultura. Sand wipes us out and silence sticks to the Pines.

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