SPENCER EVERETT


SIEGE TRAFFIC

Duck and cover was our muse
Disc forgone or concluded
Encampments deep in concrete

Like a dream I had eating
Paper from machines where
We stood it bent the street

Want not to see requiems
I focused on the incorrigible
Lists we could keep

Put writing aside for some people
Have all the fun I ate the whole
Canful in a seascape, wide

Signs resurrected the dramatist
For example a forest
Swimming beyond the window

Escaping the let-down
To ask are you for real
I was never much in evidence

The muscles go white mistaken
For bone in ample sheathes silk
And vindictive were we dying

From incongruous wind-swept
Touched by our kind of water
I’d give nothing to the third world

Sleeping a used hobby in that old
Shantytown of delight and instruct
All of my friends were there

Where it’s not supposed to be
I can’t demonstrate a strong
Movement for you nor want to

Your pants off right in front of
The window for me solved nothing
Short of heavy sedation

Walks into a bar alone
To debase its surrounding
Fires interrupt family night

Bloomed open-faced until
We turned this way together
Into glitter across the cobweb

Though not encouraged you
As simple as broadband
Met me there below the cloud
 
 
 
 
ROBOSTAR

Taken fresh from the brine
anxious to get it all
applied to the master
we prepared for ordinary
possibilities, like a teenage girl
condemned to total bullshit
or algae circulated
around each border pixel
high on identical company
why not become a graphic
submissive to speech play
considered a generous
abstinence from flesh?
The latest line of avatars
takes pains to generate
a progeny, all done up
in dime store plastic and
autolyzed fanfare recovering
the favored tune, you could
on a beach strewn with
computers, instigate a renaissance
for proprietary information
channels. I admit it’s hard
the fun we have throwing
yesterday’s Coca-Cola
through the props and
crutches in sequential
order, we walk through
these frustrated abilities
of lines to create a shape
you’ll need a real life
constituency dispersed wildly
for indulgence and/or lucid
imperative among
the bait and switch.
A disturbing mix of vulnerability
and self-abusive dye patterns
was the flavor you were
asking for chartreuse or
mechanized for optimal
use-value. Inflaming the mass
we stain our hands in
Shakespearean corduroy
and I value the durée
for all its white contours
made a slipping feeling
relentless with all its soul
quiet, in some ways devoted.



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