And she spoke of the janitor.
What is there and what will come later.
There is a clock but that doesn't count.
There are people in her pictures but who gives a fuck.
There are these things but other things intrude.
O, sure, explain how it works.
But we've had it with white noise.
This is only what a signal would have had you think.
—Dennis Phillips, Displacement, from Arena
B took my hand and we closed
our eyes jumped in shiny black waters
of slimy skulls and jiggity neon trash where god
had allegedly died millions of Them and by then
my hair was orange as once when I was
compared to crossing
in the sonic space it was yet
a land "all animals are dinosaurs
now" that's what he implied why he
took me to the jungle he knew J and I
were going to Africa
we had been
to Africa
we were going
B,
What are your thoughts on Africa? "I wanted to sound
like a baby dinosaur" frozen electric bells
hem around the edges as I walk
through the atmosphere of
my own mind created by The Interpreter
of these things these absolute hairers
to me and I wonder
if to others if one can see
at all the complex liars "getting what I want
makes me sick" foreign to this
'democratic feeling' if
everyone's poet buyer of the new world
everyone a technician of praise everyone
a natural propagandist everyone prefering blind powers
and illusion carefully considered environments everyone
to suit everyone's
dreams they will make a democratic poetry
white hot as white jazz
Wonder that I process these requests
that to be just remember in time, by the metronome
of this writing it wasn't until twenty-six
they taught me to write a 'proper sentence'
A proper sentence
before sentence was knarled as things from the sea
a great wave everything wronged by a
wild mind and a mine and a mime and a mine
high mute speaker as a non-native
to the day and the motions that make people
each time reach fingers out to write learn
how to speak through high mute speaker s
face painted with greasy
white death all
alive in the January light
——————————————————————————
What happens when they let the dinosaurs loose
in Africa all the poor darlings I've
loved we will all end in Africa
go through
in the maze I'm belting a frank hiccup
B crawls under a disney snakepit and I dry cry
theatrically trying to remember my nature
B gets past the cryogenics he knows
there's no points anymore he knows
if he eats someone's head lights won't blink
anymore to egg him on J is repeating something
fey over a distant car radio but the subtitles are
people can die now again
they can really die so B walks on the
piano
and goes where the air is sweet
——————————————————————————
Why do the dinosaurs that fly
have to vomit upon entire cities
no one is quite sure
they old new animals are yet invisible
non-natives speakers
and will all end in Africa
——————————————————————————
At first I thought the sound
was the birds B
made with his mechanical mouth
flew into the silver maw
fuck the birds
they're just dinosaurs
anyway your great
grandfather once said "no, it isn't the birds
a bird can’t express the troubled fever
of a lagoon or the urge to murder
someone that oppresses us every moment"
they bird aye dinosaur
that's what makes the baby
dinosaurs so fresh
——————————————————————————
I fled
J put his hand through the ribcage
of a bulleting bimbo and ate up
Phase 2
they sell little bags
of acid green liquid
to relieve the bloody thirst
dinosaurs in deep cover
on the sweating streets
of Africa
* After Brian Howe's HEDGE MAZE, after Lorca, after Tujiko Noriko's Ending Kiss
