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Fuck Poetry
If i cant write? And you cant read? Why sit like New York caffeine addicts While i document a life i lack And you live my lacking through my empty words I cant take you away So take this page And learn origami. Look what youve done, weve missed the bus.
Freedom
Freedom to assemble!
Where i tell you
Freedom of speech!
If you can afford it
Freedom to a fair trial!
Unless your a terrorist. That means you.
Freedom of religion!
Shut up terrorist.
Freedom to bear arms
So you can shoot eachother and save us the trouble.
Moving man
A cold motherfucking chill runs down The street deadlike my reckless ass If your the enemy you wont fade away Into the night i scramble out of The parking lot of broken walls As id i used my time to break The cycle of wakelifeboredomdeath of the revolution buried as the wine on my breath in Narnia Cliched, jaded, and left for dead As me on a frozen winter Monday Morning another link in A cycle, if you look close just another chain link fence open dried garbage Leaves fall off the tree turn to soil Which grows life which grows me Alone. You get in your car and drive. Not the enemy, EL POLICIA. A warm breath lets out steam In the air the leftover rain in my final confirmation of ur apathy I find true value true fear love life Like the reckless shout of hundreds On a new yourk city block no end destination idea agenda to your call in the empty chain linked night and the faded cry for revolution of the eternal cycle
Isolation
10,000 miles west of himalayan dharma
wandering mystics of spiritual seekers
Bhodisatvas lost in the delicate flame of meditation
and tradition
deep
rooted
in enlightenment
istead of
consumption
Where zen mahayana dreamers live their
words with the knowledge that they dont exist
An ocean seperated from French radicals
Wild late night street journeys
Anti art nihilism in the city of lights
the aknowledgement
of contradiction
instead of blindness
smooth proud deconstrcutionist situationist jargon
In the year of '68
Route 66 away from left coast Anarchism
with dreamers of a world owned by no one
And the anti ad insurection shuts down a city
The action
on
the words.
Censored
So i tried to see if i understood stream of conciousness writing at my glorious, half drunken low point. When irony caught up with me, A glass of wine, artistic, a shot of scotch (in its angry british glory) and a taste of trippy dark canadian liquer that threw me threw the tiling, and piping of my house into the cold, melting, febuary aire. And so I was an angry, frustrated, flaming, bursting ball of testerone angry at a decade of nice guys and girl power that made me who i am today When your drunk, think and try to think thats where the confusion really comes from, a broken static toss of literary terms. Otherwise id be fine. A generation too self consiously to create any real culture that cant be sold for 13.99 a cd, craving a scarmbled world when geometric surroundings prove to sharp around the edges
Spring Shipment
New air finds Summer from somewhere lost A warm, grey, moist, brick ruin replaces black ice from 1000 18 wheelers converge from Denver Seattle Houston Kansas city train Since last may never felt like this And now im trapped in a Smiths song Warm, virgin, adolescent everywhere When the frost melts
She
She makes it very clear to me That i dont know what i want And i guess i should But on Febuary summer nights I think i got it right the first time
Guerilla Journalism
Get em' when they least expect it, chap 100 cans and bottles Filled to the brim with the commodified fear of the masses Ready for sale right back to em Fear follow For 12.99 a month So when a lone sacrifical monkey leaves some paper and ink where it will be found nothing can be the same again Live Love Seek the truth for free
Untitled
Before neon signs, the world was grey people hiding in the shade of the mushroom cloud how does it feel to know that it could all go away in a second truth is parody
The Square
The Schools will empty The offices will close A 50/50 flag draped from the empire state Traffic lights will blink all night Ass the streets fill with people Playing music, giving food Free bread down at the broken down hummer restaurant kitchens, full of the hungry Beat down hobos, and CEOs Cooking foreign feasts for free for all Rythms just as strange mix for African drums and punk rock guitars crowds in action the clerk runs the shop the worker owns the factory As they paint theyre buildings black the new flag of freedom Times square tickers bare Screens fill of cubist works of color tickers now speak stream of an unknown conciousness street painters poets breath art see art hear art live art
Dada Circus
And the rockets red glare has proved to me tight tonight down at the soda fountain - triple scoop trapped in a colinder giant mickey mouse beat into submission by a militant feminist Ronald McDonald with free sea monkeys for 1.00