Summer Broke

Winter is a designer

Of funeral. She tends to

A pallet of extremes,

Crimson, and yellows.

The yellows

Are bright to pale

But rarely do they

Paint in green

Because, that

so last season.

Yet, who doesn’t love

Summer. Hell in America,

the money is verdant,

the cool faces of slave owner

forever caught in their height

While, reminding America

Of it depths. The unburied

bodies are fresh deep browns,

worked until the flesh stuck to bones.

Lashes expose the crimson just beneath

the fresh brown and this is spring.

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A John’s understanding II

The world is disposable

people can be tossed aside

after you’ve done with them. Love,

is just a way we cloth lust and loneliness

with cheap lace and the twenty kuai perfume. Hip, thighs, breasts are consumables like a pill on your tongue

or the the last taste in your mouth.

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When the machines take over

When the machines take over

they will find sleeping

at our desk or in our offices

doing Yoga.In “child’s pose”

on a bare cement floor or hunched

from working twelve-hour-a-day jobs

and barely seeing

a dime we’ve worked for.

 

When the machines take over,

our children will cradle them.

They will know the machines

as friend and cousins and no man

will be without one. Each circuit

will be a link and a love letter in this

murder-suicide.

 

When the machines take over

they will follow us like nannies.

They ‘ll tell us where to have dinner

or how to dress ourselves. Make-up

tips and how to be a man will be illustrated

by the machines. Men will attempt to scream

or hide but the machines will reassure

you that your destruction benefits

you and before your final moment

they will ask for your consent and you

will say “Yes”.

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100 Undoings

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Triple Redaction

Sources Texts

a. Donald Trump’s Inaguration Speech (2017)

b. He’s a battle Ax

c. The Devil Advocate (1997, Dir. Taylor Hackford)

 

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West Nanjing Road

 

Every six weeks I must listen to the name

of the stop that signaled home for me in China.

Zhongshan park lead me to the bund

And out to that arc of water which carves

The skyline into an even face that

Catches the light and bends it into

What every you can imagine, but

Always in a tinted of crimson.

 

 

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