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By series: Bridge St  In Yr Ear  Ruthless Grip

Free Cell
When I was little I cut off the heads of many lords

I can't count on the unlooked for energy that took

to rise in me at will, but I've strengthened my ability

to make a stand firm surface. A steady demeanor

will drive conflicted information away, back to

the abyss from whence it came, but I'll be right

here the morning after wracked in a private shame

too terrible to admit and utterly inconsequential.

Any channel can tell. Due process appears in beauty

and salacious misgiving at once; an agility borne

from creative malice, a benign insecurity. The plain

truth: I forget the curtains are open sometimes

and the hands wander. That's why I'm destined for

the side exit. Will the false preacher soundproof

the walls? The room stares back from its things

I spin out and pick a stance for swill's sake fearing

the return of contact and its inevitable pull on my

devotions. How do you prepare for what isn't in

your narrow line of sight? Let the grip take hold

and fight for this wallowing obeisance. Describe

the closest point of deanimation as if only it can

save you from emotion's hideous glare, scuttled

on the fade into demi-sleep, lines holding froth

Take out the recycling; use the seamless experience

to fit any décor, leaping impossibly high while

spinning in hyper slo mo, lying shattered like

a digitized blue stick person, and after uttering

the twisted lines he sank back into their throne

He'd swung against and, unbended, changed

carriers. Five years ago I put this wheel on this stick

Warbling a ditty wishing not to evade her

he understands the end of the world, will not waste

time feeling your pain, and everything tragic

in between is unworthy of comprehension. Cuddle

gut staunch in defense. Clams, they're coming

I don't want love or remorse to follow, I want

them in the way, things to burst through, corollaries

to be roped and tackled by, surprise, get killed

and thank you. Reversible cockpit dragged around

by strings, behaving with survivors' righteousness

as informed by the local rag smiling at thee. Gadgets

sugar-coated, the limpid diction of crossword plug-ins

preying on brain. See hand cover lens, outrage sighs

with competitive relief, heir to a calamitous invisibility

To quell demands of irrelevance I abandoned fiction

and film for the diversions of plow and hearth

These soft hands are a lie. There is music

everywhere, open containers of booze, shafts

of light moving through cityscapes, anxious work

health, fate, tributes to friends recently gone

The language of rotting imperialist bodies echoes

the sixties and its radical smile. Blood for blood off

air eventually pulling away. Plane rides don't

generate, garden state brickface, insights, you're

in control. Plastic baby spread your arms in front

of the green chalk outline of wrathful happenstance

and dig the post-cataclysm report. The image

doesn't mean to conjure a painful memory, but won't

give up doing so freely. Why, for the torrential

stink comes near such certitude staving off concision

Would your God be bored if everyone was happy?

Waiting for someone to bum out of somewhere

holding out for come along. Promised mines

We're gonna deny "˜til the end. What. Soft front

in a sieve. Along the tramside, freon daze

to replenish the storied pressure. You terrorize

the moon with glee and I can't be hard to understand

Twisted impulse to describe. Hideous movie

trigger. Throw me in a book, freeze it, waste

product of a voice staving off the elemental fidget

Single incidents have erased escalation

from the surface of our fears. What good to be hack

-sawed during limo rides? Hide your collateral hooey

in identity theft accepting renewal orders. Guilt

by proxy in participatory communal investigation

Copycat pre-emption, an obscure murder string

on the public glide by sight. The victim was a John

doughnut pining for leadership in the passenger seat

They came at you with love and the harmony of low

expectations during off hours. They'll pay you

for your opinion while you bring it live to

the transient geometry of an empty news vessel

Flummoxed safety drill phases itself out

whacked in the chiseled grime, skinned plot hung

in a meat locker suckers like me never see, guided

through non-recall, the same way they did before

attain. Moment of scarce motion. Anyone damaged

or killed at the expense of my dignified abrasion

never was there. Three zero seven am buzzsaw

blues but joyful for an unfocused minute liger-like

so huge and uncomfortable in time and space, drops

from a plastic straw, gesturing in these old photos

as if to say I am telling you something of great

significance about the bugs in your hair. Hang

a manwich in the air and its mouths bite back

Equations filled with sentiment made degradation

acceptable for a moment. Dejectable subvices

encounter my restless self-shredder. I can quail

at varying speeds unbeknownst to the there you

are crowd. I only see money when I look at

miniature boxes on spread sheets. How common

is it for a person to be defined by their weakest

moments under public scrutiny? How common

is it for those who endure no public scrutiny to revel

in their supposed weaknesses. The televised image

faking consensus, the signed statement groping

tonally for authority. It's a shame I have to be sick

to surround myself with thought in practice. Space

begging to be filled the names opinions take. Wolf

blitzed by the Big Aristotle. The Fatalist reminding

me meaning has its rulers. Perhaps so many look for

reassurance in the threat of meaning because they

know its being made for them. I can't be a site

alas, kerplunk. Whatever it is it deserves a banner

if it can hold our attention. Am I supposed to

believe we're receiving information? Can I defect

back to curious skepticism in the moonlight, stone

rabbit? Next to the people I know doing it is a

box-framed bloody claw. Is she thinking about

the descent, the sharpie marked inner child strewn

along loose cable cords? Promise to illustrate

your point about inhuman language with depthful

examples of subzero tenderness and I'll continue

smoking up like a balcony loving to curl into a fist

Regurgitation means birdy love. Of each night's

folding shot away from my flagging solo dismount

I don't beg a stay. Fucking order. I could be

stepping up the intensity, tearing out some molecules

on loan for the primordial boot and chucking

the pseudo-leveraged flail for vengeance. This

hackneyed analysis of our coat of arms disguised

as historic arc of will. Great subjugation termites

mugging for the epoch. Would sit in the rectangular

room watching instant replay on the square for hours

It called for me. Middle class heat from a lowered

mound. The promise of an interesting life

in the signals. Little arms entering realm

of slipshod targeting. And being outraged by

the outrage is another victory for torture. Woke up

saying things again, knowing it was a set up

but unable to call it off. Irrelevance beckons.

Certain in-between fates made a break for it

were ridden down, so I could turn myself into

a dozen shots. Imagine the spooks and their out

of date computers. Are we content with a migration

back to productivity as measured by holding on tight?

Doling out snippets of the next great tectonic shift

The Mansquito coils to strike its enemies, leading

us to work through a gentle maze of self-assessments

I know all the bottled water isn't fooling anyone but

a gleam of stratosphere might soothe the scrum