6/30 and 7/30

6/30

may fix spacing later


a few requests, in order of entering my mind


I want to hold my baptism
in the heavy atmosphere
that lays herself down
and deadly before
the first ovation
of thunderstorms
I want the world to stop
spinning for just one
goddamn (single)
motherfucking (oh please oh please)
SECOND but
mother nature dont care what
I want. there are dangerous
streetlamps in this city
that stop you like spot lights
or spot you like stop light and all
I want is to know the difference
between houses and homes
realty and reality
relatives and relativity my
eye wants closure
like no lid can give, scared
of scars or anything carved
into a point
I want to make interstate love
seem silent let the big trucks sleep
all night and just leave
your face in my extra empty
pillow space thats all
I want from the whole american race.


7/30

Cyber PUNK

In the long lobby mirrors, metallic and shiny like new eyes, her plastic pink raincoat is lucid. She stands square waisted, the white cotton painters pants curve to frame her hip and leg. A brain bucket in her left hand and the distant whimpers of bikes out her left ear. She pops a derm to her skin, and inhales all the dust of the world. Exhales a prism.

Behind the over-large black of her glasses her cowboy buzzes in her mind, swims in the liquid of the matrix, blind in the myriad faces of orange-yellow light. She don't ride console no more. She did hard time for hanging paper in the back of an old bodega, another time for breaking a blue boy's back, she lit up some kids with her fresh fletcher like subway lights, every one of em flatlined.

But here, her silver eyes trace a couple rent-a-cops, hired muscled that ain't gonna push as strong as I am, she says. A few seconds before the count goes off, before her cowboy coos in her ears and tells her where to make the drop. Don't let me down, Catmother. She fingers the flesh colored tape in the ridges of her chest that hold the bugs in place and names everything she knows.

Eel is the fence. Paintboys don't talk. She don't work for hotdogs. And right now she's his input and he's her cowboy.