Criptic Critic Conscience and Known for it

Monday, March 9, 2015

Soft rain flower

Soft rain flower
she notices me
as I walk by
a product protesting
rained on bedraggled damp
plastic sheaf's

It’s romantic sexy even, I
smile beatific in the know
at prefer to watch
decision already made
look around decided
walk through an existing temple
to one god, though if you say its name
it disappears,  consume too much

We are going to
consume our way through this, that has been decided
protest wants a different consumption
I agree as a wall flower, a supporting
beam of strength, of secret tangents
misdirected to paintings of isolated individuality
and made fuel for more new consumptions
dragging a feather through the systems
 colon makes it laugh
I want to eat but I decide
to get this down
first - the rebellion of it
disappeared it can’t disappear
it’s the gang I’ve been assigned to
a group of consumers wanting more
calling out, appealing to the one system
in verses of action, simulated power, literal fuel for burning
members attempt at writing the script
for hand to mouth combat,
mouth to hand,
Looking for that last ditch effort
to save god from it self. Our god will eat
itself. Leaving just the few. We all want to be
that few, consume too much. What great stores lie for those chosen few
able to stare into deaths bared grin, with well fed boredom
and righteous lonely yawns.

Maybe get a disco happening
a DJ out of the box
the dance floors set up
no titanic
only  Olympia
forever, in
one way or another.
We are a gang of
democracy spirits trying to make the Gov.
afraid and in the need of listening
Gov. have their own gangs now, people keep out people
smelly outside the wall flowers, for free.
Not costing what we have earned.
 The right to consume too much.
madness in the way
we exist in relation to one another
sometimes this comes to our attention

Knowing
acting’s the thing
when the world’s a stage
there are no bad performances
only those you notice and
those you don’t.
 There’s a system for it
but that’s not it.
There is no theater critic that
can rob you of your lively hood
295 performances in eight months
There’s simply no theater
All the worlds a stage
you can’t enter stage left,
with a product unseen
or a different product waiting to unfold
you are already on, it’s already been decided
look around - we’re going to consume our way out of this
-  the temple's fragile - runs
perfectly - rushed at falling
for ever and ever
manufacturing disaster bandages to cut and drain, a siv.
husks trampled under foot. A tools complaint
against  fruit harvested. Soft, wet
We’ve left, wall flower. We left that's
the plan, don’t complain,
come at it all angles
with your money outstretched
in open hands - we’ll accept
you reject you it’s all good -
market knows - still loves you
soft rain flower
for free, you’ll always be
for free.

So who am I
some real cool shoes -
Invisible white giant striding over the
heads of frozen trees
a molten river of frozen space dust
barely noticing, feeling some passing heat
that doesn’t leave me, it’s all the same from up here
you are all down there.

My face aloft, word dot spirits enacting plays of great density
 letting in little light, dropping through space-ality like a stone in a rippling pool.
 A net dragged to entangle you for hours
if so I should tell you
pray I don’t tell you
Vote no and pay for ever,
attention
democracies final bill, eternal vigilance filled with bacon.
WE’VE VOTED, we’re gong to
consume our way out of this,
Farmers sells Israeli Neo Nazi
liquid pop maker in a hay stack ready for burning
but I won’t intervene, same excuse as last time. When the shoe was on the other foot

I interrupt a young man at the public lavatory. He was washing his hands
staring into the mirror, startled, embarrassed, he looked at me for judgement
condemnation for daring to see himself worthy of noticing. I pee
then see myself in the mirror - a vague middle east looking man,
an old pain in face, fragile, a
unsteadiness ready to burst crack
forth, escape running mad in the
 street sitting on a wet bus seat
writing - boys smile hand held by mothers
indifference, makes me smile back
peal back a fat green one
pay pay him his kindness this
eaten up shit box
fire flower
drips
I’m built in my shoes.











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