Dear Landlord:

though you're younger than me, i wanted
you to step in and be the dad, pet your lad

the unexpected (why?) betrayal: stood by
your 2nd lady, in her insane blood-splendor

thanks for at least the patronizing tone and
chivalrous intent; alas i love you more now:

a manly man who will throw himself atop
a flowering hysteria to save the unworthy

yet i still am host to your dead wife's ghost,
letting, shitting in, your matrimonial bower

while the interloper sips ambrosia in your
step-up-suburb bed, this floor's your gravity.

why peels the rose trellis arch on the porch,
bows of satin testament still dryly clinging?

hetpower scarecrow? Tribal-alpine syndicate
crime reference? You don't see fit to burn it.

And why insist so strenuously the ways in
which i'm subject to your unyielding entry?




Jan Jansdaad
"I'm the single Jan."

My Feelin'

Look at me, my posse,
victorian gauze matron
back of hand to brow
makes it like real
swoon on divan
this is how I'd
feel if I were
in this moment; it's
an acting method:
to live out every
agonist, conflagration
in graceful riposte,
a state that's closer to
what really matters
across our nation, and
in my better breast like
a chicken pecking
to get out.



La Chama
"Ain't nobody know my feelin'."

I Want to Get My Period

It's not about the silly ideology; they're auctioning off our property.
Are you wondering whether couples necking on a porch is an orgy?
That's a good measure of who's got your tissue decisioning remote.
I hear a roaring that could be patriotic, jarring, or an air conditioner.
You try and tell them: what if you wake up one day and ask how it
happened, and that will be a moot question; which corporation will
come and save you then, which religion? We must march to reason.

They make posters of themselves with your names on them
He simply nods to the highest bidder
Every day is an insult
You are dismantling the nirvanic system

Are they any different from common thieves?
Remember to change your registration when you move.
Everyone is gagging on their daylight ganking.

Mothers of Mexican-American babies make an easily identifiable scapegoat.
Only not because of the way they drive.
Their happiness compared to our misery while sharing the same dimension feels repugnant.
Have a day off and piss off someone who's rich for a change.
Ever imagined you could fly above it all?
Remarkable how insignificant you would become.

Fuckers are people who want a medal for the results of having fucked with no protection.
Unlike HIV brothers, who brag way less.
Cocks and balls are earnest, but they wouldn't run for president.
Kicking a man's groin over and over is like the daily planet.
Everyone hyperbolizes always.
Rest assured next we meet we'll have burned and replaced every molecule.
So fresh in, fresh out; may the goddess finally release her mercy of blood.



By Pussy Riot
(Donna)

Punch line

Yes mom well great.
Yes I know it was just a phase.
But remember I was going through a phase then too.
It was
It was called my formative years.



Frag
Chama-side convo Mkidza Mlaf (mother)

A place where you come down easy

they never had to explain it until someone turned it off from the office
it was a place where vips could come down easy, live to tell about it

they say the closest thing to the sensation of impending death
and then a nauseating buttressing, result of machinery

where you contemplate the luck of your ancestry, or would if you were
the Chama, the work of society, science, mystery, the Crack.



Phyliss (embedded)
from "Before My Own Drop"

Chama ritual dropping

i lie flat back on cushion of air, a blower, but it's my weight against air as it follows the force of a mother
looking up is a tube of hair shocked, detaching, my hair and clouds in the middle, getting higher
the clothing tears, suddenly miles away this much they want me naked, these layers
this much the soils and mineral slurp me in through a straw the circumference of a planet,
whose curve is flattening all around my periphery; maybe next a limb, teeth, such a strong loving



frag 7.iv

She'd always played time hard

She'd always played time hard
but could never get it to go away
She made you understand how
hair could grow down to her butt
and you could measure it in inches,
not months, baby. Well, 9 months
baby, and at least 36 for the hair...

She'd always flipped time back like
a hot braid on a tank top, how the
weight just made her spine straighter,
back when exercise was a strengthener
not a  joint splintering waste of energy
Not the last kick in the pants that puts
you in the sucker or recovering whatsit
category, all to live for is an allegory...

Some kind of effing warning light for
teens to be scared? Well run to all the
mothers of the teens! Run I tell you now
before she takes time at its root and
makes a bitter stew of nothingness for
everyone, baby. 9 months and then...
Groundhog Day without her your key
away from the drudgery of your tiny
time mind, perpetual facsimile, vortex



Frags. 7.viii,ix
Later Epoch
Phyllis's mental notes while falling from K talons into pressure cushion within volca site

From this week's news

a fine patina of shit coats everything
ptsd epidemic
the meek, the poor, the beautiful
penguins
young pimp their self-image but
not sure if they can talk about themselves
young =
meaning young jovenes <40 br=""> < 40
<40 br="">gaunt, allergic
boundaries r talking points
money property conspicuous but invisible
welcome to your wealth login forgot what
what is your issue
i don't have an issue it's your issue see
do it all here, we skim, state r the enemy
you've got options because life is about
choices and that's who we are
you've got babies because life is all about
fucking and that's who we all want to be
we're having a party down at
there's a valley where they're sad but
fashionable and preened they
have currently in store models but
pay for it through public degradation
apparently. would that we all had
these products as opposed to other
products and spinoff product talks
these ones are whoring that system
with their kids and happy wagons
spitting out talky univisions
burbling as sporey yeast pops
fishy painted and groaning can't
help it something in him just
star of futuristic big-mouth poopy
pants and some misfits who
stan aroun his clingy titty shirt
point their guns

friends

K-Side

you were like primitive men but still above us, cows, on the spectrum
you were successfully surviving in the wild, and we had never even
seen wild until you brought it, and we had to catch up by immersion

we watched as our leaders side shuffled toward you guano-grinning
they too wanted to be cool and smooth but not quite that dangerous
honestly some of us found each other and matched causes good and

bad. Meaning a few paired up. Motives and outcomes were mixed.
You'd try and forces would pull you and others didn't understand;
you realized the power of your love was impractical if not trumped

By cultural fantasies, social fetish, the jargon and paraphernalia of
ranking. It seemed to be clear but wasn't who was most afraid, and
assignments couldn't always be explained by point of view. For me

maybe it works better if you're the one suffering because of my
suffering which you may or may not be causing. I may need you to
be the other lung that, too, breeds hateful sputum, but not a mirror.

Which would be so much easier. Why are your cheeks so ashy. Too
goggle-eyed, with sleep grains in the afternoon. Much-too-brown
eyes, even for you. Lidderly can't explain yourself to me right now.

I keep periphery-seeing flames rising behind me when it's only the
lowly ceiling trying to fan the cool electric light in a cloudy globe;
I might have asked where's the heat if cold fire didn't signal disaster.


by Jan (to You and K-Side of Yor Family, Ted)
"I had you or I have you-- no, what was there? Ever? What was it that could have gone so bare without having warmed or covered up for rareness of any other care? Peace out homey."

Springtime of Misery II

flipping hair back a lot
regaining power

Springtime is A Monument to My Sadness

This mound later contributed to a fire.

No, it isn't.

Split peas and dog piss

As weather permits

i am an animal who stalks the killing field,
slinking twixt chainmailed calves, brooding
at my luck, in the coppery mist, on not so
much of a hunt as flower picking for men,
down and wounded, to carry them off and
have my way with them, oblivious to their
powerful original victimizers, i step in and
back in and keep them in my cave, fiercely
protecting and ranching them when i can



by Donna
"I can't find you, Mike."

back of the house

Loneliness as transgression

Fortunately anything women have to say is now fascinating.
Didn't realize I'd been waiting for this day of fem reckoning
Though I cum frum the same past as all genders, one where
Handymans and manosos were wallpaper or sofa cushions,
Not the worst that can happen and also provided company,
Shelter from the other annoying women & children's voices.
It's like lucille ball said it's when they stop groping I'll worry.
Well now i'm free from all that, all that all, and just all in all.
This freeing freedom wasn't free but now it's free of freeing
freesources or a single freaking like-minded or any girlfriend.
Sure, men don't have to matter but they must because
Where are all the single ladies hanging who aren't
Lesbians or hookers.
What must i as a single woman trapped in the body of a single
Woman expect from life now that i've broken free of the
Chains the opiates of the masses and soberly feel wind in my
Goddamn face, shed, even, my need to copulate the race,
Those engines no longer charged, ironically, here in a broken
Seal-and-Peeled window, smashed open, ready for.
I sit in a window like a whore for what's outside society.
Cum, better ones. The just, gifted, outre'd, fashion-victimed.
I'll bake pies and no, i guess we'll invent a new fried dough,
Start this show from scratch. Cum, wind. Snow. Anyone?



"Me too, everyone!"
By Donna

android compass app

i had to expose intimate parts of me
and settle into a lifetime they access
my accounts, camera, private parts,
just for a monthly pass to an android
compass app, because the laptop's too
big to carry around in front of me as
I try and find my way to the phone or
clock or somewhere i can take a nap.

North and South; East and West

Correct angle

From my point of view, there's no N/E/W/S.
I smacked my little bitch on the butt for maybe the first time ever.
I'm planning to make N/E/W/S signs and look up their appropriate corresponding walls to hang on per an online map after locating recognizable coordinates external to my home.
She seemed to go crazy, almost ran into a glass door.
Meanwhile, I lose grip on interlocutors, charged connections, cannot interface without shock.
She'd run in the door and ate Juniper's food even though that's why I had her out there in the first place so she wouldn't do that.
Meals don't come to me, and I don't seek them; suddenly I'm ravenous and there's nothing.
There's no way to play without losing; I've come full circle, and it's verified.
She's so fat her tiny legs are imploding.
I just want her to get better but her will is too strong.
I bite at all the carrots, ok I'll do it, and better than anyone, and hold me to it, and it's wrong.
A life seeking pleasure and grieving it out of guilt is a bitch's life, or a god's.



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