the dawn stipples blackness

edging yellow

filming my eyes–

another hopeless day of agony…begun.

lacerations on my pink skin

crusted orange

growing over

and around

the rusted

bars of my gestation crate,

metal that bites deep into red sinews that would resist if they could but

i

can’t

even

turn

around

for a moment’s relief before bleeding out into pork chops.

not even once

i

can’t

ever

know

my babies from the constant forced pregnancies

not even one

since my babies are bacon.

mmmm–Bacon.

Brand new life smashed into concrete walls like tetherballs

except tetherballs don’t bleed

love

and think. I hear their agonized cries, dying a death more cruel than death, and–

i

don’t

even

know

green comes in hues other than infection,

until a sledgehammer beans me into the blue

not the first time, though.

he

hits, kicks and cuts me

again

and

again

and

again

and

again

(remembering that son of a bitch that cut him off in traffic)

my vision clouding in a new sort of violent, violet pain

underscored by brutish laughter

(and score of last night’s game)

and as I cross the rainbow bridge–

death is as sweet as dawn.

Prat falling,

& rising again & again

–Rain pours everything into its patter

Weather acapella on dark stage,

or in concert w thunder & lightning

–front row, center–

Rain doesn’t hold back

. . .

from drizzle to

downpour,

Rain renews

–on the DL for future flowers

–in your face for fresh-washed car, and

d’raining though it is

Rain bows

when its through

sky-written reminder

of nascent bloom

Snow drifts, though

–clingy at first

when you brush snow off,

Snow gives you the cold shoulder

–back

& breath–

chilling all spoken

–Snow permeates

puffs out clouds that snuck inside–

Snow’s got game

.

   .

.

men,

fort,

& balls

–sometimes, balls–

(when it gives a sleet)

snow

–throws down

Sun’s more industrious

at day’s end

Sun sets-

-up for the morning.

(Croissant moon

w black cosmos)

Sun sweeps stray rays

under cloud rugs,

Sun paints them.

Lines them.

Fluffs them.

Sun fusses over clouds

so much

clouds disappear

–for some quiet time–

when they see Sun coming, &

conspiratorially,

Sun winks

–as it clocks out

I’m marking time as castaway

…adrift…

…aside…

…ashore…

since bottle washed up on the sand

corked ship,

and nothing more.

on 2nd day

* another bobbed *

twixt waves of bilious green…

& netting this,

(with kelp lattice)

found layered sand in scenes.

a bottle 3rd

was dropped by birds

swarming à la Hitchcock…

just half-exciting,

as the lightning,

that pitched bottle stopped.

So, if you’re ever castaway,

and need a lift

to shore…

grasp a passing–

–Mescal flask

and ask the worm for oar.

They grafted the go-to

right outta roses,

–that petal’y perfume

to fill up the noses–

composin’ hue combos

& paddin’ the posies,

’cause Nature was wantin’

they must’a supposes

–to my view,

no true coup–

just redefined focus.

They did it to veggies

–grew greens grandioses,

they did it to barley

by changin’ composes,

‘turned beans into beanstalks

without fi-fie-fo’ses,

supplantin’ nutrition

for bottom line grosses

–to my mind,

not sublime–

just bad GMO’es.

Like CAFO,

> its feed corn <

and factory-farmed-fishes,

some seeds we don’t need

and border pernicious,

should not be, just ’cause we

find them delicious,

in all ways–I dare say

we’ve outgrown our britches,

–and flower’s

lost power–

despite Nature’s wishes…

my pet daisy is dying

lil’ petals curling black

still

~she loves me~

does she not?

brave face fading

despite cater-pillars bracing her

there is nothing to be done

love pulling her

to save her…

she’s a sweet pet,

honeybees needing her

but I wonder if I should bury her all the same,

~though I love her~

do I not?

so she can again push up

lifting

new life. . .

before the bang

before the spin

before the grandest notion

before the space

before the din

before all land & ocean

before the layers

before the laws

before all any is-ness

before the prayers

before applause

before all trade & business

before the past

before the now

before all man-made concept

was you for me

and me for you

before the very onset.

“Two meals described on menu card

and sorry he could not order both–

So waited as he hemmed and hawed

then brought the pair to hungry oaf.”

–From the order pad of Hospitality Technician: R. Frost (emp#234)

“Cntrl Alt Delete? Or Not to Cntrl Alt Delete. That is the operation.”

–From the margins of data entry clerk Will Shakespeare

“They drink, therefore I am.”

–Motif on Descartes bartender business cards

“I’m Emily Dickinson. Who are you? Are you Emily Dickinson, too?”

–telemarketing spiel monitored for her protection from a phone bank overseas

“Big hair’s but a walking shadow, a lip-syncher, who struts and frets her hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a song sung by Autotunes, full of sound effects and slurring, signifying nothing.”

–passage from weblog of Will I AM Shakey; Brittney Spears’s roadie

“The question isn’t who is going to let me, it’s how many in your party?”

–Ayn Rand (dinner hostess)

“Home, home and start Range–where debts and procurements accrue…”

–song sung under breath of accounting assistant: Brewster Higley

“A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, driving a piece of heavy equipment.”

– conversation between Antoine de Saint Exupery & his foremen.

“He wants his food dead! Not rare, not medium, dead!”

–order shouted by Oscar Wilde at line cook

“It was the best of times–It was the worst of times, it was the dawning of the winter discount in the shoe department.

–overheard OTJ; Charles Dickens, Team Member