Millenial Dust (cont.)

Fruit from the Hawthorn tree

craggy, quickthorn

shame on these poems

and live comfortably

on the company

its all lies says Fat Joe

at least 95 percent of it

you lie in creativity

and brush back your hair

Dream Labor Dreams

my surgeon has a new boss

and she toss like a boss

I thought I'd go back to work-

work on a poem that is

170 pounds and Chinese

in its many forms

At the art museum I looked at a drawing

of a Chinese man, hands up over his ears,

he wore the queue hairstyle

called the Sandlot Riots of 1877

a violent three day attack

on SF's Chinatown

at a labor rally organized

by the Workingmen's Party

now the Socialist Labor Party

I wake up from my Labor dream

my surgeon is now my boss

my boss of white light and she pulls

out my heart and lungs

but a poem in my fist

Millenial Dust (cont.)

silent and unsilent

about the pain of others

all I can do here

is reexamine our long standing

friendships

some of us who have 

want for nothing

can only criticize fantasies

talk about the same films from

America's heyday

even that term, America

sits in the past

at my one on one we talked about

Home Alone 1 and 2

and I thought it to a point sadistic

the way Kevin toyed with his invaders

and I thought of him not

as a victim but as a maniac

written by those who sought pleasure

from pain and we call that now

a classic tale of Christmas comedy

Millenial Dust (cont.)

wounded, shuddering,

a child that is the source of blood

we'd been out,

a van pulls up

and out comes normal

               everyday people

a woman sits down

she catches her breath

lights a cigarette

artillery smoke fills

the reflection

of her thin sunglasses

my friend didn't get

the job he wanted

but it became a million poems

I wish I could take

those hardwritten poems

and fuck all you sons of whores

with 'em

I gave him my Heinekens

and some of those

fat blueberries from Wegmans

they're as big as grapes

he says

I saw an ad that made

me both horny and patriotic

anything but completing

my parent's Medicare

                       applications

when I got word from my

mother that our relatives

abroad, a maternal uncle,

his wife, and two young

adult sons, successfully passed

their visa interview

a dull dread fell over me

Millenial Dust

The night is a beautiful night––
I let go of yr hands as
you cross the room toward
                        the light

my face is flush and wild with flowers
I'm drunk on the brain like a
poem in a new used book
and before morning I'll be
swollen with love

I want to give someone
a recommendation for a volcano
but I've never been
to the islands

--

Generations of Color

there I am and here we are
generations of color
might ween us
and like all mustered
feminine power

and all we have to do is
destroy the legacy of
                       legacies
until then I might
be nowhere with you

you can have whiskey and
Portuguese donuts––
malasadas
and the body is still here
loose, whip-like,
and itching with the new
generational love drive––
not death––
it's own thing