idola canna effect

Man gets to the top of the screen
and clicks to join the pigs early
for the secret joys of that blue dawn
I have nausea, cigarettes, coffee

Pure water for my night throat
I find cover for shy covert looks
four faces at an intersection
whose quiet cannot wither

Whose graves carve a black moon
into the earth soaked with runoff
spit at them all on the streets
crush their toes under their vehicles

The good mother has songs planned
her pale babe spittle sun seeds
their bright sound and skin bless'd deep
by an aging poet, flap a Chinese fan

\/\/\/\/

building the wall

my dear tender power

it's really muggy out 

here in the back yard

the old wall is down, 

the foundation partly poured

one and one half column poured, 

slight skew

and beam for the steel door

the city is poured out onto itself

the air thick with the passage

and mating of flies

in their fucking death spiral

like mathematical orbit

or us swinging round

our elbows hooked

we're hooked onto each other 

with sweat in my eyez

human poem

this is my stop
a bus stop
should have
some humanity
in its design
somebody fixed
an umbrella
to the top
of the pole
she showed us
as we walked by
the corner of
10th and Morris
whole neighborhood's
damn changed
but my favorite poets
stay where they are
a block of houses
a corner where old men sit
a house is always for people
like a harmony hung
for my passing ear