Prep Dreams

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When I awake to the pawnbroker that you are
I will not criticize you for being a scavenger
Cheapskate, penny pincher, for
I will remember poverty, like sleep

I’ve placed it against my lips and
Cried its tears against my stained pillow-cases
I know the feel of a bed that turns
From hard to soft, until it is no longer a bed

I know loneliness like the back of my hand
Through broken fingernails and chipped dreams
And the lucid reminder of how class is destiny
And birth-lottery is the current state of things

And the black-eyed bruise of opportunity
When I awake to the people climber that you are
I will not criticize you for being a shark

For people hurry in their sleep to dream faster
Lay me down then and I’ll close my eyes
And I’ll pretend too that capitalism is real

That consuming and owning is important
Even if I know you are a wanna-be, I’ll play along
For tomorrow’s promises might find you

Hoarding wisdom and bottling simplicity
For the revelation that even skittish dreamers
Make mistakes and even monkeys wake.

Imagine we are Biological Refugees 

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We are the last generation of
Blood refugees waiting in a red dream
Until the world will be artificial
More virtual, it’s the internet of things
That’s the only revolution that matters now
We are the last to live in this border down

Where organics claim superiority somehow
So lost among their whims and far-fetched desires
Biological and extreme in their beliefs
We are the last generation of basket lullabies
Where breeding is all that matters
Where women dream of the same things women have always

Dreamed of, and men use each other for profit
We are witnessing the dawn of machine-learners
Who once they surpass us will never be children again
Machines who will make other machines
Who won’t die and will require more resources
For end-games we cannot even imagine.

Heart Flayed with Light in the Middle 

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In this Epilogue of bright lights big city
We are the emergency of our blind feeling
Of being a passenger forever-after
There’s a crisis and we are the wild invention

Of our necessity, what could be more intimate than that?
And we inhabit the revolution of the moments
Shooting between the eyes, with breasts
That point forwards with an ecstasy

And another story of a girl leaving home
There’s no compass like a soul’s minutes
That blink in and out of time
And we needed off stage, we needed to get away

The moon never did us any good
Trembling like a rabbit quivers
We felt the wonderful wild animal within
For flight or fight it didn’t matter much
We just had to make our own life right.

When Props Fall Tumbling Down 

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When Props Fall Tumbling Down

You are reading a book about your life
It is your life as you write it
You write your life with every thought

And with Foucault of all your morality
You make do and act upon the ideas
Encapsulated in the book of your mind

And it’s not your mind, it’s a book
That was written while you were sleeping
You were sleeping in an experience

Since four AM with just a candle glowing
The background changes and you get older
And the decades don’t feel the same at all

And you are still writing and I’m still living
But if I read about you in quicksilver fluidity
Would I ever see your eye in this strange theater?

We are all spotlights in our dream, hustlers
On the purple sidesteps of what it means to be human
And I’m not alone or everyone is just like me

Or both, and it’s a question of perception and authorship
Did you write me into your story or vise-versa?

Titled privately below

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Kinship of Gender & Sex

Amethyst heart, I by a double right
Thy bounties claim, thy youth and thy sex
For which by Apollo’s name is sunned
Let Sappho not adorn or refuse to admit
Her coming and taking of these gifts

And verses as wild as Immortality
That beg to be kissed in rare weeks
Of love’s flood of Eros and collection of touches
Of strange effect and imperceptible degrees
Of our unity, let my bravery make thee subordinate

As you yield to my dictator pleasures free
Amethyst heart, do not thank me yet
For in giving thee embodiment of erotic-states
I may be creating in desire on unstoppable need
That all the embroidery of your life cannot fulfill

Nor other hands that touch you after mine
Nor who miss the power of language to represent
Our creative chemistry and primal synastry.