The Challenge

Youth is the early time
The before
The first

The diamond
Sparkling and inviting
Smooth.

The faces are drawn towards
The diamond

Towards the faces
On the other side

The diamond cuts glass.

Nerve endings burrow

The faces become of another time after
The glass

Cuts
The face

Burrow
The diamond

Towards
The faces

Diamond becomes the Glass.

Asphalt

This  
           ratty gray sweater

Another
                 soggy gray square

Patient electors
                             Pliable pacifists
                                                            Missed crowns.

The peach colored mother looks out from foggy glass
                                                                                 while
Repeating babies churn behind,

          Dipping and bobbing
                                                         Squinting
Yawning
                  bundled ligaments
                                                     Sifting,
          startling,

                                  birthing in that

      Black sea.


Ringing In

I'm only a machine,
A man
As they used to say
She's spilling from their lips
Like live cultures

My lips don't bend
Anymore
From the chemicals
Only
She's spilling from their testimonials
Lips lick declarations
Signed to the church door
Up
Where left and right are offered

I find freedom It
makes me
Heave bright futures
Currency weave blankets
Drip live cultures
Suck my own tubes
I
Find
My
Self asking for thoughts, you realize
I am a man?

Cat's Cradle (Paraphrasing Donna Haraway)

If technology,
like language,
is a form of life

We cannot afford neutrality
about it’s constitution and sustenance.

The point
is not just to read
the webs of production

The point
is to get at
how worlds are made and unmade

in order
to participate
in the process.

in order
to reconfigure
what counts
as knowledge

Feelings Are Facts

quiet train
holding two things
reverberated
secrets out

eating won’t fix it
resting won’t fix it
grinding your teeth in your sleep
won’t fix it
singing won’t fix it
the library won’t fix it
the foam in the sea from the boats
is dirty

and golden
soft
a comfort, a distance
a blanket
around the road
a stick
won’t fix it

The Mistake Of Culture Is That No One Has Anything New To Say

We forgot what is new to say
Forgot what new
Is we are forgetting
together Is every time we speak

We want new, and we let it
Be known, not new

Shape makers, making shapes
Alone in studios filled with empty shapes and scraps

New makes us
We neka mew

Easy to say.
Harder to do.