I disagree, with civility.

I disagree, with civility.

But you see your argument has been
anything but civil--


Precisely as I said,
I disagree with it,
in no uncertain terms
and I am anything but
a civilian, a citizen
of a civil society,
I am a wild denizen rather
of the tumult
of the Earth, a formless
creature beholden to nothing
but exuberance, joy, liveliness,
I wander in fierce destitution and timelessness
and the Walls of Legality and Process are Jericho's
to my thunderous horn,
I marching, them falling,
forever in vitro  in transito  in lumino
and riding a white-hot bolt called
wind of momentary life and so
you see
I do not disagree as one incorporated
with civility,
but as one imbued
with all that civility lacks
and desires.

Psychonautics VIII

Tossing disc is omnipotence
when headiness high and spaced
is arranged vehemently around you
with every motion of the spinning disc
mapped  instructional  schematic  magic
across the arcing dome of your mind and
each moment and measure of mass is
asserted, willed by intrinsic forces manifest
in their paths, each throw-catch movement
a literal display of decimal places and laser-
point curves allowing a systematic mastery
of frisbee, just running high and really snapping it down.

frgmnts

briefly slots of darkling stars

fleeing tongue of saccharine caves

countenance of rigid tare

doorstop fairies  se e m i n g  of ledge

trims of legless potioneers

tincture sips of Jamborees

jungle peace of ornate rims

fleeing teaks of kindly sound

secant arms of teeming struts

roguish isles of patterned lips

acrid sacks of simmered dim n e s s

sacral crest of greenish blue

septum elves of coughing trails

Gorgon welps of withered greens

poultices of echo crimes

sorghum jellies, sou r e d of etches

denture cold of grin ning keys

putrified of puerile oats

kumquat splice of tempered flute

eyelet pin s of frigid themes

strayed for sins of lab y rinth pines

rattleskin  t w i s t  of opal lime

contrail mane of  o v o i d specks

corru gates of pencil lead

deviant of forg e d dream times

fragments of words of

fabrics misheard as

fragments of verbs of

fragments of words of

fabrics misheard as. . .

ORD/DFW/MSP

Can I glide now?

Might I expedite this trip?

Does my baggage weigh too much?

May I please get on with it?

Just six more long soulless hallways, white shoes are strictly prohibited, and please check any presentiments of hope or feeling at the gate. Also no smiling at strangers, leaning in doorways, or holding hands with loved ones. No warmth please. No kindness.

Please try and do your best to observe the moral blindness. Straight ahead dead stares will be rewarded with advanced line position. And while we're on lines, form orderly lines between the lines, fall into line, line up now

Is that all then?

Are there any more instructions?

Can I board now?

Are you done with your inductions?

Please embark, now. Mind the gap and eyes straight forward. Slower steps now, leave your grace but lug your airs. Don't bother trying to recline in that plastic go-kart chair. Don't forget to roll your eyes at the stewardess as she demonstrates the proper safety belt technique.

Please put your tray table up and apathies in their full upright positions. Remember to secure your malcontent for the passengers around you before securing your child's. Now please direct your attention to the mindsucking pamphlet tucked in the seat of the tall man reclining into your knees.

Please continue to stare deadly. Now remove the flotation device from under your seat, following all directions. Insert the plastic inflatable tube into your mouth, taking care to fill your entire mouth in order to completely obstruct your airway. Once your lifejacket is secured, pull the ripcord and wait for take-off. Runway delays are expected, so please bear with us.

. . .

Virus's Verse

After Gwendolyn Brooks: We Real Cool

We versus viruses, virus's verse,

we weirding waitresses waiting

in line. We buying sickness for

suffered and blind. We twisting

spoons with the needle and vine--

Wrapped leather belts and the

little brown bag, we squeezing

sleeveless and wiping a rag.

We holding handles and hawking

at doors, we lurking late on

the stairs of your porch.

And we diving dumpsters and we

washing cars, and scrounging for

change on the floors of the bars.

We's growing thinner, we's seeming

dimmer.

We jazzin' crazy

all night

at the moon,

passing and sharing

we get the bug soon.