0.

“I chicken out at the edges of it,” 8 ½ inches of lit
Samsung, my business of screwing business and selling no soul
to clamors in suits digging gins at high
noon, the trade of books not barter bard or Mauss’ gift —
too Lowell, a.k.a Bobby Brahmin with his throat on fire with Logos
and the donut gamut police cocking
idealities, but the sign said stop not fucking park.
Tickets explode, buds bloom
and purple, Spring arrives forward, asks you for favors
in the back room, at the edges
illegible pledges scribbled out in primitive time, sun’s up
and oddly objects called bodies know
arcs in limbo even, the Lion of Oz cries spin and proclaims
computers pharming behind the screen.

1.

Brainwashes love inside overpriced? Cargo heart, more Spam in your can
or what you can’t cant, as in do, big Hairystotle
manage the state of desire with the state-
ment you guess, get into it and intuit Mary Mac, her aorta gone Pop-Tart
along high ways asphalting miles
into Davis, a square in the town of roasteries
making funny in May I chew your lobes love how
homebody says je tout-tourne, whatever
consumption you put up with, and against it.
“Love is not mocked whatever use you put to it” —
say guru chemic, say techno lippy and thought’s a mouth,
bios stuff denim, some cocoa doxa parataxis
to know out of electric spins a double measure yarn.
No fakery, but the McCoy, real said here.

2.

“As absolutely devoid of meaning as a French horn,” or that of Coltrane
the Starbucks noise for post-consumer
silly, supping from a hangnail yuppie’s used latte grail
not struck of meaning but meaning
light speaks form and affect, buddy, a metaphysic
evacuates history’s bowels, meaning spewing wrongs,
two thousand years of shimmer shimmy
and oops, the loop of leggo my ego ergo a shithead
trying to think his way to the honey.
Off kilter, off bass, as in crass, as in eyeballing primitive —
Dear Paris, if you want a war
go pick his petunia in wide daylight, as in to never scare
at heights or widths, losing nothing to recommend it.
What useful knowledge, this, never sensed no
sensible episteme I matrix mama meme.

3.

Language, how do you say it? Delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol.
What a mouthful says Lansing lancing on, or Spicer
digging alien compost noise, green noise
all thumbs chicken scratched in airtime, hitched
space time pace time construct time Olson say instanter again
subjectivity slates and peeps, if you said a dime
for every brick of this coast, if you said no death drive
but lick the road to know, Jack, in times of some and soma
Mexico won’t bed you but lay you down —
you, me, we things, those who live by the sword
get shot by those who don’t, or else live
by mouthy technology, to put in wheelwork toothed.
To go on go, to go on, and on the dial WNOW continuum —
“Death is not final. Only parking lots.”