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
