I wake up to a bullish noon, it says: buy. 

walking is no skit, god forbid a man do some experiment.

the phone rings. hi, yes, my neighbor will invent causality. 

window accommodates straight face. dusk, it yells. 

sleds on me the elephant balloon, beating the shit out of triangles. 

why be happy when you can be unjust? my day has just begun. 

zero oven has known nap, deep fried time drips oil.

oily dangerously, this curtain is what love is.




one day before the election, we closed the gate of workers’ center
late. I carried signs, flyers, new ink & old, crumbled papers, heavy 
& slippery. exuberance was the word in air, sweat drenched in its
teasing breeze. cars were fluid in their usual dark shapeshift & I 
was vigilant in the falling dawn’s rhythm. I asked somebody
was it always like this; something was going to happen, outside 
nobody knew it more than I did, nobody was in awe & secretly, an 
arrest in veins we might touch the fringe of this night… was it always
like this? he said yes, yes, last June, and November, the calendar
of restless punctuation, thrill & ounces of scare, we were the same, 
couldn’t stop talking, daytime’s war rare, baring an enmity. we were
held back by our own hands’ watery contagion. yes, it was always like
this. I was reminded of a feverish winter, we walked deep in sluggish
new snow, each holding wrapped flowers. I was feeling faces like they
were flakes, ice waited for its decay, natural, naturally, I could have
thought about several summers ahead, delirious in our moves, the
world for a temporary, knuckles its kind-hearted wars. rigorous in our
collective tempo, I am happy you quench my win.