Let’s take a drive-by past 1985
on the yellow brick road
all jellied up on walled streets to an exponential prime,
slip on your feet Cinderella dreams
dispelling just as the realness of ether
Remember the daydreams of daytime
packed with the little minutemen,
mechanized monomers,
calculus primered Cadillacs
jacked up in Japanese and arms full
of tigress furs
Jacks of all trades, bartering cypress
hillsides for misinterpretations
of euridite euphemisms, contradictory or even
loving letters written to The New York Times
sales and nations are saved by artillery tension
pulled like a Niqāb across the face of patrolium fields
crack an oil drum with a Syrian pebble so spill
their bleeding hearts into the shallow graves
still peaking upon the Mediterranean Sea
Que peso? What’s the weather like down
South where blood boils up a
smell of sulfurous mines?
El Dorado don’t make a wage fit
for Merican kingpins and the dollar bill flies
like a crane in heat
Fill up with fluidity and swim
in a glass of Chilean wine brimming
with developmental-prenatal wreckage
bubbling up in little islands
drifting up the currents of South China Sea
Parlay the fear of pirates for privacy
of Communist sympathy
dyed a deep umbre of conflict and revolution
But privatization is the realization of truth,
uncouth,
an emblem of freedom in want of youths yearning
impunity opportune impurities
in kindred of regality, Reaganomic comic reality is so
damn picture perfect you could put it
in textbook scriptures
references conjure up a cloud of noxious gases
swarming up the skirt of the Himalayas
Mother doesn’t raise Her eyes but
know that she watches those kids
who blow desert storms into the cradle of Mars
These, our back-watered heroes who
followed the dark
in their sleep.
The world is tied together like
a ball of yarn, all knotted up, each
tendril an arm dismembered from the
celestial whole
We are out of touch, and it isn’t
enough to believe in suicide
We want to embrace the space in
between all worlds and forget about
the matter of facts,
sitting plainly on the cataract the
luminiferous sequence disregard reality
of everything the need for existence.
Thich Nhat Hanh tells me to absorb it
all like a flower in monsoon
resonate my frequencies to the
darkest and lightest of intangibilities til
I can’t feasibly be, turpid
as a sound wave in amber, startled
still
Become a baby Buddha or Jesus or Sun Ra
Let the God wind become your
particles while the world falls into
dark and light, again.
underbrood 