from: Brightcity Storyline


Sometimes I hope that
the worst will happen soon
the inexplicable & coarse
satisfaction when Chaos swoops
over rattling the windows

in retaliatory earthquakes
and I sigh, sate, hearing the high
totals buried in tsunami, bodies
lifeless as tinsel in trees temporarily—

strange pleasure of the fail
and the crash: the implosion
of Bank, disclosure from the brink…

You could stand right up
on the edge, and sail off,
though the air, is it
a different fresh? Here,
I’d never push: what
is this vulture fetish
carrion thing in myself?

I can feel it, the emotion,
like a fragrance: poets, the lovers
of roses, the fracas, & the faeces:
we prosper in the chaos of the species:
mosh-pit of the alter,
the programmes, the triggers
and pull-tech.
MK:Ultra, and folders
labeled NONcents.


A casual calm driver, I am who
the bus would overtake; pulled over

on the street, our complex
commitment in my hand,

I present the permission
slip allowing common bondsmen

command of their registered ship.
I display good behaviour, in public,

in the vehicle, being an emotion-studier
of our polymorphic situation

-determined Race of odds and ends
woven majestically

into a presence sought after
in the merchant permanent

praxis of galaxy.




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