The Black Plan

My act has become a gesture, beaten into a receptacle by repetition
so the passage of our shadows across it
shields me from the moon and its fountain. My complicated accent
crashes through the surface along with the other cats
who fish at the foot of the bridge. The spent sleeves of things
brush across our eyes. The gravy is baked right in,
so it’s possible to connect seamlessly beneath the curse
of all partitioning and its anti-essentialist program
against which like a radio turning itself on I fling my trunk
down towards my legs and roll onto my side. I will be there soon,
mystical shades and degrees of my interior vegetable.
Here’s to our management’s return. Though it does sometime benefit
from a kind of Kabbalah, exfoliating scrubs are ultimately classed
as an import like soap or t-shirts, their objective as usual is to systematically alienate one
while promoting illusions of primacy, the way a gulf oyster, modeled after
the shape of the universe camouflages its winged hump on the human tongue
with armless familiarity; except dishonest.

I remember when the dialectic was personal, now it’s for people
who don’t enjoy the syncopated scree of hamsters across the wall
but still want to feel involved in decision making. Personally,
I am even larger and more nebulous than the products of my estrangement
to which I’m recommitting myself fully all the way down the line
even if it’s only for the purpose of playing with a dead person.
There’s no difference between printing and analysis.

How many featured artists have appeared so far? Take another five steps up
so the people can see that you’re serious. Here’s to using the same icicle
that created the world. I once had an armoire full, now it’s just stolen hood ornaments.

Mississippi Necromancer

Like the wet dulcimer? Part of me is real infinity cream. I was the only cadet who didn’t make a promise to their parents, now Macroprosopus beards the vacancy of my human suffering with nostalgia and otherness. I don’t care how erotic and sensitive Ray is, he’s got to find some other place to go. I’m with you in thinking that universals in language or music
or aviation or trauma presume the recovery of a lost self. Yes, harboring a second, ghoulish self leads to confrontation. I’m substituting its unique morphology, its drugs for my own. My intern is resistant to nature. Freed from tradition like this, death is a vehicle, the platform for an individual’s resistance to democracy. Don’t pay him shit I tole that motherfucker Ray the same thing. Tell Ray I said — what time he go to work? He’s a narcotic expression of the flow of goods. The heat is exhausting without lyrics, but his might be leading him and his iron lung into a tropical funk. My nervous tension like branches warmed by the sun. Every morning before school we used to have fried chicken, eggs, and a big glass of piss. I’m interested in exuding a louder authority.