I twinged

I twinged 
a brand-new muscle in my back, 
trying to carry the lazy man's load. 
And I was wondering will this 
injury 
punish me 
later, and enduringly 
to the point I will admit 
it wasn't worth 
having to make 
that second trip. 

Gary Busey smile

There's all these levels in a
Gary Busey smile. It's like
the smile is having its own
conversation with your eyes.
There's the smile! YIKES 

"I'm a pretty scary smile huh?
Yeah I know. Don't worry he
probably doesn't know
I'm scary, so
he's probably just trying to stretch
his face away from his teeth
because he's learned this is how
people show favor and delight, right?
Except...what are the chances, really,
that he doesn't know?"

Your eyes don't say a word

food presentation art critic

A perfectly just-off-balance
composition
with the vertically-flipped turkey Africa
anchoring, leading the eye
up through the mass of stochastic cabbage,
then down
the artful tumble
of citrus wedges and right
off the plate. As visually
mischievous
as no-doubt nutritious, log it in
as another stunner. Perfect score 5/7

wing and spring

Like a well-bred debutante 
with a chicken wing, 
she gnawed me 
interestedly. 
While I 

for my part 
imbibed her whole, 
in face and form 
like a hidden spring.

Yet later we compared notes 
and themes, from that symphony
momentously met. She said

I was the one 
with chicken-eyes. 
And she'd been the one 
drinking in my sweat. 

I was going to protest 
"that's gross" but her laugh 
like bells tolled the tale, 
she was kidding me there. 

She can kid all she likes! 
But her eyes still gnaw
me to bone,

and her spring? 
One sip
still strips me bare.

meet cute

Downtown I espied
a new antiques shop.
Curiosity piqued,
I had to stop in 
to find what it means. 
You were there behind the counter
just counting beans
on a glass display case 
filled with new antiques. 
You asked 
how my day's been, 
I replied not bad. I asked 
how were your nights?

You said oh 
not 
evil or anything. 

This seemed wholesome
and a good thing to clarify. I thought, 
you're not one of those mind-reading 
psionic Templar witches are you? 

You said yes. 
So I thought very clearly and carefully 
only in words, hey, wanna go out? 

You beamed yes.
But seeing I didn't get it (apart 
from the smile) you said it 
aloud: yes.  

So as it was getting well 
up quittin' time anyway 
(I'd timed it just so) 
we took off up the street 
to the savage bistro 
for a bite to eat 
and some chi-chi drinks. 

Conversation's a bit
one-sided, though 
so you say, 
so I think. 

like it's like

I feel like it's like 
I'm famous and like 
interacting in a heartfelt 
snark way with the social 
media people but don't really 
talk about my personal life? And 
then my girlfriend just stopped 
appearing in everything? Where 
she had been in half the things, 
thereabouts. So 

I mean, 
it took about a week or so 
but people started piping up. 
Chiming in in comments, hey 
is Heather okay? Or hey are you 
and Marjorie doing fine? Or 
you get the idea. Whatever 
the hell her name is they're asking
and "interested," whereas 

I'm like half these people 
just pop in every sixth post or so 
and nobody reads all the prior comments, 
so either I do a whole big "explanatory 
post" which half won't see, or 

I commit myself to updating 
people a thousand times on the one-to-one 

'til I finally explode somehow 

and it's just not worth it. So 
I don't even answer, not even 
the first one. I just appoint myself 
the keeper of the business and 
go on about my heartfelt snark 
in blithe blinders mode not noticing 
the presumptuous and unwarranted 
impositions of familiarity. She's 

fine. 

We're fine. 

She just became a nudist okay? 
It's none of you peoples' business
her personal decision sans clothes  
and you know the platform standards 

will not allow it. There's no way 
to make this plain when 
everybody's so used to my heartfelt 
snark they think the whole thing's a prank 
ten different incompatible ways. "Oh 
they just decided hey what if you 
disappear without notice? People 
will be all like hey what!" Or "What 
if to cover for your 'absence' I make up 
a titillating, assulating ahemulating 
story about it to put you in their 
eyes and mind that way?" 

Do you think she and I 
would indulge in such childish 
pranks when we've filled your feed 
with childish pranks for the past 
2 years, 8 months, 14 days 
and 5 hours and counting? 
Yeah, you probably do 
and people? That's 
part of the problem, 
and why I refuse 
to explain.  

Make up your own explanation 
and believe it: she 
and I 

are fine. 

That's what I feel like it's like 
except I'm not famous, ergo 
none of the other shit happened 
either. Still. 

Sometimes it's like that 
even when it's not like that 

and can never be like that 
again

the circle of love

It's impossible not to love your kid 
because they come out lookin' all 
fucked up, and then after a short 
period of adjustment hey 
they get all babyish and stuff 

cute in the adorable sense, 
the irresistible force meets 
weird fleeting resemblance 
to each parent, and you're like 

oh my god I loved you so much 
and me so much I wanted to meet 
someone HALF YOU HALF ME 
AND WE DID IT, and 

even if things go wrong later, 
it's pretty crazy seeing that 
weird little thing get the 
googly-eyed mouth-gaping 
drool-hanging hang 
of things 

like turning itself over 
by itself, or 
dragging backwards 
trying to go forwards 
or sitting up 

UP!  

let alone hauling itself 
up on things and falling 
on its ass, let alone 

language. 
"Language." 

It's like 
"look at our fucking 
collage homage genome 
random shuffle-thing learn
how to DO this this"

it's amazing 

you can't even imagine 
how you did it back 
then. And 

you weren't even your own 
genome. You were these two 
huge loud incomprehensible 
people's. They 

were so cute 

at the time 

A jet plane flew over!

A jet plane flew over!
That never happens. 

Where I lived before, 
it always did. And so 
for a moment's vibration 
and thrill, I found me 
transported: just like 
a kid in one of those 
big blocky seats, up
there. Which soon 
enough shrink
to confinement 
too small. 

I was in another garden, 
some way to the West, 
in a time of sunlit fall, 

and praying by reflex 
the plane would not stall.

So far they have all 
stayed up, and gone on 
to wherever they'll land. 

 Not a single 
dropped ball. 

whatever suits

Call spades and clubs
and hearts to hand,
and diamonds too
as fate deals art;

Call swords and staves
and cups and coins,
whatever suits.

Now play your part. 

nudity should have clothes on it

nudity should have clothes on it 
say the prudes. I say that's sick. 
Nudity is by definition! If you put 
clothes on it, it becomes clothes! 
Not nudity, so calling it that 
at that point just emphasizes 
you're a pervert, buddy 

disgusting 

put some clothes on your mind, 
maybe. 

author reminisces

my first book 
was published by a radiologist 
operating out of his garage 
against my will. 

my second book 
involved a sex-for-pay scheme 
that never quite came off, 
and interfered with the plot. 
I ditched both

disgusted

my third book, 
never came out 
to great acclaim. 

my fourth book, though 
proved to be a turning point. 
I discovered what a book 
was, and that my prior books 
had all been tomes. 

this realization still 
haunts me, but 
not in any really 
gripping way you could 
get a book out of, or 

anything

similar interests

I have a similar attitude! Sole
responsibility, straight to the grave. 
Gravity's okay. I approve it. The stars 
get it on upstairs like something mythic 

way out in the countryside
far from our own light, 
looking up.
The only way to explain that shit 
is lies.

Come with me. Take my hand. 
Lie with me. Tell me you love
100% and - I don’t consider
my love to overrule. Anyway,
works out cool.

I say we basically take face-value
and presume (first presumptuously
as hell, then in good time,
sumptuously): “good faith.”

We either get there apace
in straight aim and striding
time, or else we end
up firing wide
at each other's
sniper-scope skewed
displaced straw mockups
of thee and thine. Makes

for a terrible action movie. But this:

“If you fail to understand my fault,
the fault is mine alone.”

Just so.
And so, having no
authority to do any otherwise
whatsoever, I really

have such sensible basis
and cause 
to trail off

looking into where
your eyes should be. Which
is where mine should be. 

world seems short

This world seems short
on reliable guidance and example
for the young. Much
of what the grown world
wants to sell them on
is hard
to see the way to buy into.
When one person’s con
is another one’s job,
where what’s most
important in life
is - for many,
as they look in the box
- not included.

the immovable object

The future will never come to pass. 
The present will always be
in its way. 
In all the dark days
of our histories, every one of them
only was now, 
and could never stay. 

Some fucker flew in

Some fucker flew in my red wine glass, 
and 
I didn't even notice. He'd been 
in there for a good little while 
before I saw. 
I found him in there, to the side, 
all dead. Had to be, I thought. He'd been 
fully immersed! So I held the wine 
away, to the side, and I fished him out 

he was wet and harder 
then I thought 
he would be. 
I thought 

"some moth?" 

I just didn't want
him to dissolve under 
my finger!  
I fished him out dead, 
and hard, and sad

and I flung him out
and down, and he hit
my leg 
and flew off

I couldn't even tell you 
what I have done

starshine blues

We motes
grind stones,
roll wheels, sail boats,
and make much mulch.
 
Life longs. Hands cry,
face rests. Door flings,
chair falls, steps skip
mad blest. 

Winds sigh
night's wings upheld
moon looms,
starshine

warps weft,
blind rushes
meld 

to you,
from mine.

And then, 
bereft. 

fox ethos

A “vixen”
in Greek myth
and folk belief, was
believed to be a she-fox, 
or a foxy bitch. Foxes
in general were held

by the lusty
rude and earthy
Mediterranean rabble
that made up the Greek ethos

to be smallish canids of vaguely wolfish
or doggie-style, body-wise. However,
the Greeks imbued these four-legged
freaks of the ecosphere with more-than-human,
less-than-divine qualities: craftiness. Slyness.
A cunning almost feline in its perspicacity.

Because of this, they would stick
foxes in stories doing all types
of stereotypical fox-stuff. Aesop
told the most famous tale: how the fox,
cunning as hell! - beat Sherlock Holmes
to the punch by using classic Greek logic
to deduce the sourness of grapes
as in direct proportion to the height
and therefore inaccessibility
of the grapes. The moral of the story?

Foul grapes are even harder to get
than they are to want. Point is.

Despite all the detestable Greek
superstition which has dogged foxes
all through fable, myth and legend all
through time - even in Native America
and the Europes! Wherever foxes are,
these Greek ideas about foxes have

somehow

been “flown in”?

Theories do not abound.

To me it's obvious. A case of the Greeks,
having learned from Plato as usual
about the world of ideas, discovering
the ability to impart ideas about foxes

directly into the shared underconscious,

where Jung took the hand off from way
downstream in time, sent that Greek
ideal fox back to the house
to confuse even the stoic,
cool-minded “Indigenous
People” of the world all over.

You are foxy in the deeper sense.
The animal sense. Your cunning
and savage couth tempered by
a pretty good nature, bright-eyed,
bushy tailed, that’s the spirit animal
aspect I saw. That’s my babe.

She’s a fox.  

funny blood

my blood is totally funny 
in reasonable amounts 

sitting there all red. 
It's like 
it looks like a cartoon 

except 
maybe more slick,
smeary with a foot-track shot
through where one slipped
- trying too hard to get a towel!
Wham! Missed the mess, thankfully 
- and glistening like a liquid 
jeweled dark ruby pool, where
it sits undisturbed 

like a cartoon. Except 
what's it doing there? 
It's funny, because absurd. 
Hey buddy! Why you
outside me? Did you
get lost? Some loss 
of blood, you know, 

you feel bad.
Poor blood! 

Blood is kind of 
like our own buddy 
on the inside.
It's funny 
to see that dude
get out, 

except 
blood

doesn't do well 
on its own

to do (with you)

there is no way that I can do 
what I want to do with you 
without certain things
happening everywhere
all at the same time forever. 
As soon as I let you know, 
you will be able 
to bring it about. 

Until then, 
we are both powerless. 

sandwich is

A sandwich is a food-eating
technique

whereby
foods that would be inconvenient
to eat with bare hands

are contained

by some kind of
cooked cereal paste. Handy
for holding and taking bites. 

It is 
considered 

a rude lunch
or snack, or 

breakfast, if 
the food inside 
is breakfast food 
like pancakes, or 
cold cereal, 

or dinner. If you are 
slovenly, leading 
meaningless lives, 
incapable or just 
uncaring of proper 
dinner, sure.  

A sandwich is 
the salutary solution 
to so many foods 
you
want
to take in hand.  

you had meat tacos

Saw a girl with a t-shirt once:
"YOU HAD MEAT TACOS"

Well damn
I mean I have had those.
That's a new low plateau
in insignificance elevated to
commodification, though
I thought! Doesn't even
say what meat! It makes
a difference. I was bemused

As I supposed I was
supposed to be.
Then

catching
perhaps my perplexity
from where she was?
She shifted and smoothed,
squaring herself:

"YOU HAD ME AT TACOS"

I was 
astonished 

and apologetic 
and - she laughed 

I could explain. She 
looked at it herself, said
yeah, the words were too

close 
together

damn it
I thought.
I want tacos

Halfway halfway up

Halfway up to planned campsite, 
which was halfway up to the real 
cool lake, we broke and pitched 
unwelcome tent. We'd gotten lost
along the way. Exhausted, stitched 
in sides, and taking sidelong looks, 
we made as if to make the best.
We'd wake at dawn
to make up for
what by then would be 

yesterday. 

do tell

You're a drop of light from a starry
height that expands
everywhere
your ripples reach,
and I mean that. Sure, 
I mean everything. 
As they always say 
those who can't,
do teach. 

the nightmare again

The living things 
poured out of her clothes 
and fell, writhed once 
and died. 

Each left a hole of a different 
shape. Each had the color of dye,
and texture of shirt, or pants, or
hoodie, progressively,
underthings 

With nothing conceivably
telling why. As all of these
people around were stood, but
milling or passing - not seeing
things. She can't cry
for help,
because then
they'd see. Attention
distracted from normal
and good, averted to horror
and shame 
this brings - whose cause,
in a minute 
shall not be explained. 

Just fully exposed to discovery.
Cruel humor and shock. What
is she doing? Standing like that!

With -
their eyes peering down
- a circle 

of strange, dead
colorful things 

on the floor or the ground,
which cannot be turned back.
Cannot be put on. 

It's horribly real

the whole time, and she knows
that it is going on. It's happened
before, she suddenly knows. So
familiar, these times. Sometimes 
it occurs in the back of her mind,
as she goes about running dream 
errands galore, and she drives it away,
back down to occur - not to her, not today.

And it doesn't. 

It waits.

Then when she won't suspect, 
it's the nightmare again. It will not 
wake her up, because in the dream 
on some level, she dreads 
that she'd wake up a man.

Some horrors in life are worth
living through,
so as not to wake up
from who we shall be,
if we get through them. 

The cautioner stands on the borderlands vigilant

We each of us tread deftly
on the borders of sorcery,
milady. Oh lordy, take
heady warning and heed
this hearty encouragement
against the unseemly and
seamy examples of those
who’ve strayed seemingly
too far over bluff’s edge.

Found themselves
in the incredible
Wile E. Coyote position,
standing on air: looking down,
down, gazing for hours
into an iridescent abyss:
a charcoal midnight purple
curtain of infinite transparency
and opacity in descending
chiaroscuro depths,
with party lanterns
hung deep all through,
shifting positions according
to some inner math and music,

each its own.

This is language.

If we’re not careful,
it could steal all you mean
from within you and present it

to the one in front of you: impossibly
perfect, full and exact. All it takes

is you know
what you mean
about each thing.
Which is not the same thing,
but you’ll also know:
what it means
to you. All it asks
then, is that you dedicate
aim in finding and catching
each word-by-word,
catch-as-catch can,
every delicate or sturdy
vessel for such meaning
and sense, to aim in meaning
well-spent ’til the last one drops,

and bleeds

out dry.

That is all language wants of us

who feel its call.

It seemed at the time a joy
- not much to ask? But
language it turns, has
a trickier seem
than most note.

It is not us.

It is not a thing like us,
language.
It is nothing
to do with us.
Except in use
and pondering.

It is alien.

It came
from before us,
most of it. 

However you fancy
yourself a nonce artist,
a neologian, you plant
puny seed in a field miles deep
whose trees were acorns, once
floating between stars. Yet

past a point you feel flush with it.
Even as-if smug! Some never pass
though and out of that point. Child,

it is no credit to us.

Not whatsoever. It is a force
that does not live, but hangs
between us all in mind.

It has purchase in us,
already so deep.

Do not let it buy you out.

into the little known

Did you know that fungi 
are the ghosts of ants 
that led selfish lives 
did you know that stars 
are holes punched in night 
by the human glance 
of angel eyes, once
they saw how right 
they were to fall.
Yet how short the stay, 
and cruel the price. 
Did you know in the seas 
there are mermaids still?
they assembled themselves 
from huge garbage drifts 
like Sargasso seas, except 
plastic and what should have
been landfill. Did you know we
can make up all of it? If we start
far from home, by the time we get
here, at least half might fit. 

Murder why not

Well speaking
for myself I love
not murdering people!
It’s a positive enjoyment.
There are as many reasons
not to murder as living human
beings I’ve encountered, so far.

Murder murder murder murder. 

I dunno, just seems kind of silly. 
Petty somehow. 

It's kind of condescending 
when you think about it. Like 

you think 

you're better than them

"head lies"

He is lying on my head that I stole from him.
I’d sworn it his forever, but I took it back.
So now I find his whole self poised and sprawled;
weighing on my mind, as I ponder and stall
for a perfect countermove,
which

ideally is not

a counterattack.

so-me-sup comment series #2 ("social-media-support")

Haha 
man this grainy-ass blur lookin' chick
is hot as hell YOU from whatever
schoolchild year this was! Damn

that sounds wrong, but girl, HOW
(you older than I am woman
now don't coy me out) you
make me out to be a pedaperv
on a time paradox jag? That
ain't right. You all leaning back
smile glam casual candid shot
cool of your hotness, we all once knew, well 
hell

I remember
that day way back. I was 

in another State I bet, and probably 
diapers. You on the other hand, oh man
it gives inner infant me a baby boner to
think how much SHAME OLD ME just got
self-smacked with merely commenting
in appreciation of how hot a child
you serve up of yourself to the world!

I mean, I do not misappropriate here,
I hope. But you did say yourself
"S<3  HAWT"
so 

Look, I don't even like kids! It's just
it's clearly so you. You can see
in this pic, you can clearly see
the woman you once hadn't
become yet. All that
promise, you
know

make it look so good I wanna
feel bad about it wink 

GROW UP 

This is a great picture!! 

so-me-sup comment series #1 ("social-media-support")

So
I understand you keep changing your hair color. 
and 
it looks like you're differently wearing clothes  too? but 

you keep switching it back! Now
look people
are
reading weigh too much into this girl. 

You 
do you.
You it.

I can see what you doing 
exactly 
and I'm
like aw yeah, here comes the world, 
girl 

Mack "3rd Eye" Blinderson

Mack "3rd Eye" Blinderson has 
or had a certain cocksure insight. 
For each thing he saw
to penetrative depths, 
He saw another thing
to dizzying heights, 
which, afraid of them,
he'd hyperobscure, project,
redirect, overcompensate more 
or less by degrees than he thought
called for. He posed it as an act, but
it's so much more or less than that.

For instance, Mack wore a black
t-shirt with a candid shot of an
unsolicited dick pic - not his! 
Just the pick of the batch that
he'd unsolicited, but nevertheless 
got. Ridiculous: Mack was straight. 

White. Who was he kidding, putting on 
this black t-shirt! The contrast was absurd, 
but apparently fit just right. Mack was
always 
pulling such
gay tricks. It seemed
the solicited thing to do. To him.
It's not nor was, nor ever should be, 
but a dude like that can't always see
clear or true ways out or through like
me and you can, do, know-how all-wise.

Poor Mack 

was a hapless dork those ways. It's why 
people cut him a break in the back 
with his own damn selfsame 
namesake knife. Metaphorically, 
of course. Surprise?

No not really. Not to Ol' Mack "3rd Eye"
Blinderson. He's rich in surprise curiosity, 
and curiously poor in reasons why. He calls 
disappointments epiphanies, and poses as if 
because it's fun, and acts like his whole façade's

not him. But it obviously is. It's the best thing 
he had to put on.    

the badass town

The badass town came to town 
- actually, it was already there. 
It just came to, itself one day. 
Woke up in bed with badass hair,
decided not to brush it. Just
went in to work, or school
or shop, as attitude grew
in that town 

to so badass 

the next town
called a cop. 

Too bad. 

That next town's cop
came by, but badass town's PD
gave dude one look, "Don't start 
none. Leave." That good cop skipped. 
Badass cops: not aggrieved. 

The populace spit nails and smiled. 
The schoolteachers bent steely minds
to work, the kids said "hell" and "piss" 
but pitched right in - ambitious to make
marks on Earth. The wives and husbands, 
girlfriends, boys and other lovers' rude 
raw trust was like the raging sport of 
beasts! It shook the homes! With
tenderness in every thrust, and
cataclysms soft unleashed. 

There was 
in town 
one 

lowlife fool. 

So used to pushing wimps around. 
Now he's like pinball, ricocheted
between the wimps. All flipper-shot
and bumper-bound, but  

- that's just for bad old time's sake. 

That lowlife fool grew badass, too. 
He's cooler now, he knows the deal. 

This badass town is balls-ass real 
and true as tits and steely minds. 
It's found its code of honor strong 
in rude-hewn hair, unruly free. 

Just hoping not to wake up wrong.  

service industry

The purpose of your argument

might be better observed if
I clout you with it.
                                Social critics 
and dissidents reserve the privilege 
of immunity speech grants - they 
relish it! Yet
                     I find simply to serve 
them back their own with mustard 
does the trick neatly. We can't object

to our own, can we? Not, 
anyway, with our mouths 
full of it. To do so 

would put one on 
oneself's wrong side, 
discreetly. 

I keep getting scared of the bunny

I know its behind me but 
I won't look. It's a bunny, 
I can hear it in the bush, 
doing not its funny business
but straight-up bunny business, 
making a living like a bunny
boss. But it's eerie back there

behind my head 

it always was eerie back there.
That's where the devil stood 
watching without complaint 
as I throttled my conscience 
and became a man. 

Now 

there's a bunny! And 
I'm not going to look, because 
what if I turn around and oh 
shit 

it's a bunny! 

I mean, it's not going to be 
the devil. I'm out here on 
the screened in deck, immune 
in full view of all public eyes 
from the influence of diabolic
or even demonic incursion, even 

though I can't see a soul. 

Shhh, don't tell a soul, but 
I actually never could see 
one of those. S'alright. 
One can infer. 

Even as one can observe the stillness:

Backyards free of householders, no kids
cutting down and across the common
depression making for the pool this
December 3rd, not even in Florida,
on a colder day no doubt than hell,
does that guy come up here for this!

He only stands behind me to watch

whenever I 'throttle my conscience,'
the fucking pervert. 

It's a bunny back there, but 
in case it's an angel or something 

I'd rather respect its incognito. 
Besides, hey -
I think it's gone! 

thank god

my crooked wife

My crooked wife 
is on the take 
to curry influence
with me. 

The local crime boss
suborned her 
by means of
intermediary. 

It seems he thinks 
her influence 
can blunt
my interfering ways. 

But I'm just glad
she's playing nice! 
I love my crooked
wife these days

slight distinction

We differ majestic
on minor things, 
keen in intent
swinging views of each
'round. Or rather,
to swing reality
- into place 
were agreement
between shall be
found. Not since
we gave way, relented
or slid! Because it's just
set there, beside what we saw.
Alongside both staked and set
stances, as if 
after all
of this dicker and bliss 
what was right
and acceptable,  
all along always did
exist. 

runners' pace

I won't fight you for you.
But I'll fight any thing for you
or for us. For all time and place.
I will never chase
you if you flee, 
but I
will run every race.
If you lead, I will pace 
myself to overtake, and we 
will each lose our share, but you 
will never lose me.  

vow of finding real.

I aim
wonder
curiosity to discover
by means of: sense
and sensory stream. I do
and shall find all through,
all that’s findable by such
means. Never I'll be done
of it.

All truth
findable by other means
I find valuable another way via
whim fancy curiosity, to the other wonder,
speculation say, of realist bent or irrealist,
surreal, sometimes boundless: unreal.

By imagination or envisionment,
by othersensory opening out to feeling,
finding and opening the aperture inside. Opened
to void pulling in all. Opened
to cosmos roaring
through
and out:
thorough
and rough. 

So. It’s cool
as it was is and all ways.
Find boths. Eithers, ores
of many kinds quite more
cool I am not
your rockbound being, but
I’m that too. I am rock finder,
rock minder, and a real knower
of stones. Stones are every bit
real
as we've found them. And
quite a bit realer than I’ve
been able to find so far
otherwise.

So what I do 
is 
I take this vow 
and shove it right 
up the fundament 
where it can shine 
shine shine in peace 
for you. 

Interimpersonal

I know we didn't ask for this, but 
hear we our, I mean: are, and
part of you and part of me
impartially said: what the
fuck! Apparently, but
it's true: let's kiss.

Wait. Okay, then. Objectively,
let's not! Wait again. Let's be
impartiality and reason itself
about this, then? Good system:
find hard and true, avoid
bias and kiss, fuck, wait, it -

- well 

Let's not? Okay, let's not
get ahead of our
each other's
selves' ideas 
of them, of
who - you? Me,
whoever! Each
to each, only us
here and it's probably 
okay to undress 
though, at the same
time - our
call! Or as the decision
seems to be? Natural
on instinct, letting
a thing happen
duly in shameless
accord - Look, See 

we can help us with

that, here and oh

You sure? Yeah 

no me too, that's 

wait 

there's a catch 
clasp, hook 

it undoes itself so, 
to an undoneness 

of fact 
in act. 

show sacramental

The black cop's in the show 
like Sidney Poitier,
right there to show how right  
producers are, and say:
society's an asshole, see?
Oh, they still are! But
not us, baby: no,
not we. 

You can tell that's what it
says that's how it bees, and what
they're trying to say is, "oh,
please. Be fair: agree 
we did our part by
faking up a story for
your mind to fart 
around in: you
did your part, 
too."

It's 
absolution 
of a sort-of 
sort. It's true as
if held true.  

The white female who won't put out, 
the white female who will, are both 
just
there to make one point:

the patriarchy 
is or isn't with
us still.  

Either way, producers plop 
a plot with roles to signify 
not human beings: human things 
that mean more than they are, 
and why. And people fart 
around in mind, and nod 
and wince, and frown at 

what.

Whatever has been
neat set-up 
to be frowned at.

So 
we're
absolved 
of all we've

got.