Monday, November 1, 2021


1 November 2021

Crossed paths with couple

Who’d said my dog walked behind

Republicans, oh

I tell Pam and she

Does metta for them

We ascribe suffering

To them, but that’s what

We assume that you assume

Bad to have a lawn

Here, too wet, grass grows

No one to cut it but you

And it’s metaphor

For us in a crowd

Crowd is to community

As autonomy

To autocracy

So many things are auto

Pilot slurs Biden

In code. Brandon says?

Notes toward a supreme argot

Whatchu got, Bible

On pick-up dashboard

I can no longer say I

My friend says, nor my

Yet there is no we

Asylum of weed whackers

Leaf blowers, dead stink

Ill-firing machine

In Savasena by road

Hunkered down drivers

Zip by orange vests,

“What is your dog?” passers-by

Happy urine stink

Pulls me toward dead ferns

Lilith pees like a male dog

Tutelage of Jack

He was born in box

Walked out of the womb, said it

Was not fitting to

Feel aversion to

The old or sick or dying

It so becomes you

Do not pick the o-

helo berries, nene eat

Them, another death

By tourist auto

Rushing to take the photo

Phone says, “new memory”

Cells regurgitate

New memory of a memory

Fuck algorithms.

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