Tag Archives: freedom

Windows has a whole new meaning huh

We know
what you’re
hiding in
the vatican

We know
what you’re
hiding in
the vatican

It isn’t
just your need
for the mouths
of children

We know
what you’re
hiding in
the vatican

Autonomous

          Believe nothing


you’ve been fooled
                                                        From day one
           everything you lap up


                           Is a lie
                                preprogrammed & designed


     With the intent to oppress
                    hold you back
                                                       From what you
  could have been—


Do you feel jaded


             are you angry
                                                Disillusioned
                                                      tell me


                     What you’re
going to do
                                                                  Coward
                                                                   tell me


                        How does it you feel
       to know you’ll never
                     Truly be alive


Anytime

An engine
                                      in the distance
is it coming
                                      from the sky
the protocol’s
                                      in place
deep breaths
                                      to slow the heart
not until we’re
                                      further
not until we’re
                                      free
an engine
                                 in the distance
is it coming
                           from the sky

What’s the difference between a poet and a terrorist

Sir, you’re going to have to come with us

look up down the aisle
    headphones off
notebook closed
    thick men in outfits
with intent faces
    all eyes on me

the poems

I scoot past
    The Bitch
and realize
    I’m being removed
from the plane

you shouldn’t say it
    you should just stop
go to sleep
    forget it ever happened

in the weirdshaped chair
    eating a fuji apple
should we let him do that
    why did you leave this behind
every agency in the proximity
    swarmed like vultures
with ear pieces
    making everyone wait
while they searched
    and found nothing

I was flying to New York
    it was after, you know,
you remember, don’t you

We just need to make sure
    this plane makes it safe

I just wish
    they read
the one
    I threw away

Superproprietary

Reporting live
from the front lines
of corporate takeover

now
they want the market
they founded on
our criminal brick
bodies

our solitary confinement bodies

our shot dead
our stolen children’s
bodies

we got more in there than anywhere
dollar signs for eyes

time is running out
stack the cards just right

they’ll take half
they’ll take it all
it will never be
enough

no, this isn’t freedom—
this isn’t decriminalization—
not when you need a million
for written permission—

you’ll push us
further underground
where we will thrive
like our seeds

like we always have
and always will

without you

What’s worse

   They’re hatching
                           mosquitos
        out of old film
                                                          canisters
           single bullet
                                      snapshots
     latched on to
                                                the corneascan
   they could see us
         from every angle
   there was no
         escape

     and I don’t know
                                             what’s worse

         between what
                 they do
         and how we
                  don’t react

      I don’t know
                                              what’s

Medicine chess

Like a fog
in front of me
I know to reach
my hands in
to write this—

like the way
they trespassed
out of nowhere one day—
hands on black pistols
holstered on leather belts—

it was identical to
the khakiclothed
sunglassed dream
two days prior

with the clipboard
blue spyphone camera
and triggerhappy
taser practice
on the bored oak tree
adrenaline comedown—

it was when
I was disarmed—
hands in pockets—
pushed up
against the fence—
residue on
the black knife  He
put his hands on me

no more running—

the jig is up
verbatim
a cup of coffee
in my hands—
threat venom
poker face

no more lies—

I’d been waiting
in the shadows
of truth and stigma
seven years for this—

bedroom eyes

everyone was sweating
under the April hot sun
of the mustached flatlands—

How many you got here?

the central valley in a drought;
post-apocalyptic vampire infested
methamphetamine free for all—

little man looking up
standing inches away—
hadn’t showered in a while—

what’s in the barn,
you can’t go in there—

what’s in the barn, no—
you can’t go in there—