The Poor And The Sick

 

 

Thedressforthesongofimmolation

American commitment.

The genocide thrives.

The sick

So very

Their urine does not smell.

The poor

So very

Eat gassy barley

Van Gogh's Potato Eaters.

Climax of the dying light.

In mahogany tones

Smeared into the cupboards of the fed-less.

Flatulence near the full set of teeth

The American

Eating the genitalia of the children of progress.

The Poor

The Sick

Appalachian is Sunnyville.

Is Crescent City.

Is Norristown.

Is San Clemente.

Is Willmette.

Is and has always been John's Fresno.

Sickly citric deficiencies

Old boots

Molding and causing infants to bleed from their lungs.

Black babies always the first to go

Like Buffalos.

Sick with their history.

The anti-abortion killers

Are men in plaid and creased jeans

In running shoes

Named after invicible jocks.

Gunning down

Doctors and employees of clinics

White against White.

Have you ever seen them fight for a dark baby's life?

 

And television so vintage

It becomes mucus

Slugs.

Home Ec. femmes

Reading teleprompter

Bobbiligook phantom garbage.

Holding the new baby photo.

Delivering news of mass death of Refugees

Through melon lipstick.

Smarter ones

Jettisoned to feed

And

Pat Robinson whispering during commericals

"Nothing about right to life, ok."

G-Force

Decisions

By mutual parties.

Liberal

Voices

So full of hatred and vanity.

And Cesar Chavez's stories.

Ticked off the parade.

The American Trench coat

The creepy sadness of political people

Drunk and married

On another crusade for power

The American Genocide debate

Was years ago.

War Vets weakened immunities in spirit and body.

Concerto grosso

The hacks of Iraqian Syrian Iranian children

Who will grow up

With sanctions and IEDs.

The pilot drop

Of Metal and Ruin

Taking flight and becoming the Star of Bethlehem.

Voices in the eyeball colour

Of the middle east.

As civilians died and fried.

American bacon style.

Who is the luckiest man in Washington D.C. ?

 

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And remember

You did not see this.

Children

Dying horrible deaths.

We are Americans more than we have ever been.

Throwing

The widow her curve ball.

Throwing

The cross

Into the Spines of the immigrant.

Into the Spines of the mentally ill.

(That bothersome bad breath.)

We as Americans honor what?

We are being bordered out of countries.

And

The American spit in your face afternoon showdown.

The Starvation

The Poverty

The American fear of death.

The white picket fence

Hides nothing

Not even the torture we committed.

A nation of runts.

India had Ghandi in their vaults.

Switzerland had and has and will forever have

Jewish blood

In their vaults.

Eramus neutrality.

And the infidels.

And the incestous.

The Americans.

What of their vaults.

The New Guinea Bouganville incident.

The Albanian pyramid scheme.

The lost L. Kabila Congo

The Bin Laden Juice.

Human ruins

Ought never

Board a freight train.

Boxcars

Of

Bones.

Drumsticks

War Rattlers

For greedy rulers.

The mercenary traveler

Carrying postcards of mass graves

And

Raped baby piles.

Money for bodies bodies for money.

For mercenary ecclesiasticism.

GRACE-say it in French.

GRACE.

How many times do we have to go back to the Hague?

Furniture and broken lives

The NIS NIH lying lying

Dead AIDS' GENIUS

Bestowing the art of truth

In trunks of safe passage.

Grabbing onto the ashes of artistic saints

Who throw up when asked to come back.

Between the natural order of things and the natural order of

Things

Picasso is back.

One world currency one owner.

One asthetic.

Smeared fecal matter on rich bought organs.

The plastic chair

Now

The universal chair.

Like a good man in a dental chair.

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And the infidels.

The Americans.

What are we to do with the continual history

We make.

We who

When we know something

Know it so quickly.

We who

Invented our discovery.

We who

Gave equal acesss a DNA code.

We who

Leave guitar picks on the graves of our dead children.

We who

Drink the beer of Kings on the graves of our dead children.

America's new meeting grounds

These cementaries.

Slang

Anger

Loss

Equality Inequality.

Guilt.

The love of consciousness.

The light of The day.

Our eyes

Sad and bowed

The violinist quit his job.

Will we keep each other alive?

Even in this sustained decorum of abuse.

Will we keep each other alive?

Only if nothing approaches

The doors

Of our phobias.

Will we keep each other alive?

Only if we share.

It is not ingrained in our boundaries to share.

But while we decide what our boundaries are

People

Will

Die.

 

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And here we are.

American.

Utterly destroyed.

Plenty and nothing.

The miserable and the beautiful.

The immoral justice of the courts

Is the sentenced of the poor.

Purple mountains of majesties

Strip mined

Nothing but debris.

We have finally come to it.

The fanaticism of the World

Is the fanaticism of our country.

What we sought to exclude

We became.

I ly

Like every frozen corpse.

I stand

Like every living soul.

And so do you.

Our lids twitch.

The switch got close

With Kevorkian's fumes.

Annoyances.

Survival eats survival.

The dinner table is set.

With plastic food.

My childhood dollhouse come to life.

The reason

I buried all three stories of it

Under the house.

Your generation

My generation

Open rib cages

Rotting.

The lonely tobacco smell

Of Mark Platt's City of the Dead.

Human quest is unforgivable.

And

Of course

The dawning is this

Tuberculin cries

Of a baby in the weeds next to its dead mother.

The mixing caricatures

The stuffed heads

The amenities of fools.

The ship is coming into the station.

The train is coming into the harbour.

Filled

With the treble clef

Of disbelonging.

 

 

 

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And here we are American.

Dim.

Insensitive.

Arrogant.

Judgmental.

And crazy.

Still alive.

Each little finger.

Still alive.

The memory of slavery.

Still alive.

The destruction and death of Indian tribes.

Still alive.

Building prisons.

Still alive.

The court proceedings of racism.

Still alive.

Drinking tea

In the name of the savior

Still alive.

 

 

 

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My heart is up to my mouth

My lips.

What lies between you and me

Does not exist.

The light is on in the ruins.

The Republic.

A Nation of broken treaties.

Skull faced factories on the train ride into Philadelphia.

The empty back of the workers

Stealing night

To carve deeper into the bell.

The end

Is a tossing and turning.

A hum sound.

Squeezing every ounce of electrical force from the dams.

And we the damned

Of the damned

For the damned.

Cool ourselves in the fading light.

Our bribery has met us.

Our rain destroying jungle floors.

It is thick business

Searching for Kevin Carter's lost lens.

Searching for horrible truths.

It is thick business

Being an American.

 

 

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I am Native American.

Slit wrist

Veins like fallent trees.

Expatriate

In a soulful exile.

I am what you asked me to be.

What I pledged

My allegiance to

On the plantations.

Mercilessness roots

At the edges of the world.

I have inherited your beauty.

And your ugliness.

My soul is large for you.

I carry a catheter bag of pee

To the church potluck.

I am the offspiring in awe.

I know

The bones in the casket

Sleeping underneath

The draped American flag

May not belong to the family name.

You tryed.

All of your future mothers

Lined up in the high school gymnasium

For the Rubella shot.

You tryed.

Cheese

Peanut butter

Milk

EBT

Section Eight.

You tryed.

My mother pregnant and feverish with polio.

Almost rescued.

You tryed.

Your babies should be strong

Your elderly should be filled with wisdom.

Your youth should be creative visionaries.

You tryed.

The ingenuity of apologies.

To some degree of sucess

You lessened suffering.

We should be a tender country.

 

 

Agermanfireshowerbody4done-1

 

 

 

 

I am meeting you

Spine to spine.

Both you and I

Have endured our personal tragedies.

We have laughed and we have wept.

 

 

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I am living as I was sent.

I am living longer than I dreamt.

I am living as I came

And as I went.

An American.

 

 

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*

Sing when my singing is finished.

My death is imminent.The frozen hunters

Chant in blue seal ink

Along Drake's Passage. A thing to behold

Was buried deep below the cane. A city built over that

Another Mongol's Grave.

Come whether you want. I am teaching myself the sacrament

Of Sacrifice.

 

The American Self Immolation.

 

 

(In Memory of Andy Irons)

 

 

 

Ayellowstaringtotheeast223

 

(N. I am going to need help digging out. Hurry. Satchel.)