Tuesday, November 29, 2011

anarchists

oppose
a social order
of slavery
a violence within
the walls
buildings
and monitors
connecting us
to nothing
the exploitation
of sunsets
sex
and dreams
the death
of the flies
gathering around
dried blood
the 46 year old man
born muhammad
or joseph
or steve
a junkie
or mechanic
lying still
in the dust
shot or shot up
discarded
an unfathomable distance
from your tv
the eight hours
sitting at a desk
staring into pixels
chatting
rotting in
obesity
anxiety
and depression
anarchists
oppose black
bags
15 million
square kilometres
of plastic
in the pacific
a global military
expenditure
of 1.6 trillion
anarchists
oppose murder
money
lipstick
cell phones
televisions
vibrators
the collars
on children
chained to fences
or walked through malls
anarchists oppose
malls
inane conversation
spectacle
promiscuity
taxes
flags
handguns
monogamy
viagra
government
prozac
celebrity
aropax
SUVs
social networking
states
and porn
for this
anarchists face
repression
discrimination
detention
deportation
ridicule
attack
and gaol
anarchists are
shot
judged
condemned
sacrificed
sold
betrayed
stigmatized
and dishonoured

but anarchists
still
believe

in you

Thursday, November 17, 2011

her face behind a blue cup

Love,
she says.
A distance removed.
Thinking about it,
still sore from all the fucking.
Love,
is intense.
Not what
she's looking for.
But what
she's running from.

I say,
there's nothing to be afraid of.
Comforting stories,
my litany of dirty fucks
posing as polyamory.

But she's leaving
to find herself
somewhere,
not here.
Of course.
No need for
attachments.
And love is intense.

I say,
I have no expectations,
knowing full well that
I'm expecting a reply.
Affirmation,
a return to source.
With every glance and motion,
her on top of me.
Anything is possible.

Her body still sore.
In silence.
The warmth so close
and eternal.
Closing our eyes
as we reinforce the walls.
For now.

Love, I say,
is not as intense
as fear.