categories.

“Power floats like money, like language, like theory.” -J. Baudrillard

At the Super-

Market,

Security cameras monitor the baby food, coordinated by flavor, 

Moss-green-aesthetic

Labels the mashed peas, taunts A palate

Fixed to asses pill zest 

& energy drinks 

& human organ excretion.

*

Data gathered from surveillance

Promoted Foucault’s panopticon 

To watch Jean Valjean’s pantomimes 

From dusk till dawn. Profits plummeted, 

$$$$$$$$

$$

Recommended

Save face syndrome

Will protect consumers 

From themselves.

*

Setting forth a surveillance 

Constructed by media factions,

That encouraged its users 

To flaunt their self-monitoring 

As a fashion:

(filter-focused-flesh-fish-eyed-frown)

(bedroom-ballroom-ball-gown-breakdown)

(makeup-manger-manager-muscle)

(two-tone-tutu-text-technicolored)

*

Simulation montage scrolls along the screen. 

World behavior shrunk to quick buck criteria.

*

Hand-eye coordination results in abuse

Bet it,

Finger points,

Or thumbs pushing the replica 

Up

Down…

*

Users see themselves in the ordinary 

And that’s worth watching.

As if to market Time as a Failure

“Know thy shame and preserve thy glory.” – Lao-tze

A hospital bill arrives in the mail

Indicating payment past due, 

Such culpability would be moot,

If not for debt creating a future to be lived. 

Time 

Stamps 

Showcase a past event

And 

Tempt fate

To promise liabilities

By wagering flesh against the Sun.

*

(When Icarus burned,

The vultures fed

And God gained a friend.)

*

Sentience describes time,

Setting details via exchanges,

Alleged by synthetic order.

*

Apologies promenade,

Discriminating against linear growth

Securing time to a moment  

At which one declares:

That’s what I remember.”

*

Whispers trail like an ellipses,

Gain growth and fill to a gasp. 

What amounts to an exhale 

Defines a sigh.

*

Now starts over again.

And again.

And again.

“No fair. No fair.”

Villains escort a mask and regulate dance, an advancement step 

Creating space, promenaded to be measured as

Rhythmic air.

No fair.

No fair.

Medieval trials deliberated guilt through intent. 

Swine ate consecrated biscuits. Rats burrowed below 

The cross, into the church wall. Humans evaluated

The actions, “No fair. No fair.” 

As pigs followed the swing 

Set forth by Newton’s Cradle,

Trailing back and forth 

From the gallows crossbeam. 

No fair.

No fair.

Dances with air. 

Motion untoward from spaces 

Meant for pupils rolling backwards

Matching the darkness 

Overlapping the backs of their skulls. 

*

Courageous mishaps deceive 

Capacities weighed from 

Action to justice; a

Switch flipped,

Activates the garbage disposal. 

Flesh delicate like ash 

Hovers inches above 

Twirling blades. 

Guttural groans lathered with tap water

Taunt food scraps eviscerated and drowned. 

Hands prune and defy certain mutilation 

By occupying court over indoor plumbing.

*

No fair. No fair

Matches the care 

Courts implement 

Onto biological 

“Free-will”

*

Choose not to eat the plums.

Choose not to sleep in and arrive early for work.

Choose not to kill the mosquito and watch it consume blood.

Choose not to bundle up and encounter the chill.

*

Again

*

Choose to ignore grammar?

Choose to accept the consequences?

Choose a fixed-mortgage?

*

Again.

*

No fair. No fair?

Who cares?

Plastic Culture

Sliced bread confuses the soulmate solution, redeemed in pairs.

Bottle-caps unscrewed presenting the naked grooves arranged for plastic perfection.

Rather. A. 

Digital fingerprint 

Via microchips. Made in squares, set in rectangles, 

Proclaiming unseen value, an illusion of technique.

*

Air filters capture cellular waste. 

Replenished wholesale from frayed tissue-

Securing viscera in place.

Ripe for an organic audit. 

patterns

MADE IN NATURE!

Soul-mates and credit cards

Are made by nature.

*

Car alarm corrupts

The lull formulated 

By mid-day. Beeps customized in klaxon scales 

Invade the rooms housing stay at home parents,

Their kin and 3rd shift dreamers, sleeping off: what day

Is it?” 

None claim ownership of the violent noise,

For none are aware it’s their noise to claim.

*

Such is the vultures conundrum 

Upon discovering road-kill, 

Be it deer, or human

Value none the wiser 

In 

Those 

Final 

Seconds, 

No two pairs 

Taste the same.

A Soliloquy for Dead-Ends

A tree branch brandishes its silhouette 

And hides the stucco pattern, flourishing 

Across the wall. 

A leaf trembles in the wind. Pauses. 

Before its stem snaps and lets go

Of the leaf. 

Impulses obligate an outstretched hand

To snatch the leaf from wind patterns.

Fingers grasp the loose foliage 

And dollar bills within the same pinch. 

Let go

Impulses comprehend 3.00 dollar loss,

Intermingling with the leaf,

Setting a price for the moment.

Weeks categorize miscues, angry body language,

Falsified apologies. Pursued to give weight

To an otherwise feather bound text pattern. 

Lovers escape:

Her proprioception drowned in tap water,

Gurgling misunderstandings 

As

He thrums his fingers on the marble counter-top 

Contemplating the air it’d take

To take a bite out of tomorrow.

She leaves the bathroom door open

Vanity lights drape her silhouette

Over his contemplative stare. 

He reaches for her outstretched hand,

But as they press together,

Lights go out,

Leaving the only solution 

As

For them to break apart.

Φ

Hands rest 

In pockets,

Fingers pinch

An inseam – let go 

And secure 

Flesh for fabric.

(where has the time gone?)

Faith in 

Corporeal 

Structures, categorizes 

Conscious content 

To relay another happenstance

And create the moment,

Despite what it’s not. 

Foregoing another minute,

Quiet breaks…

Piano melodies inhabit vibrations,

Teasing the eyes to distinguish truth 

From invisible operations. Voices replace

A car engine gone mute. 

Among the top air,

Human dialogue performs

Like gibberish,

Dividing purpose 

To give meaning 

To those in low air.

Money wrinkles.

Time is spent. 

Earth cashes out

Another moment,

Making little use

Of them all.

Body:

Harmony equivocates from lack thereof, rectified by cell-phone silence, the device atop my jutting hip bone, curtained in flesh, hair and cotton.  

I encounter similar vibrations, examining window glass pummeled with snow, testing the sash’s hug. Inside the showroom headless mannequins congregate, hold hands on hips, bend wrinkles in 50 dollar, of the moment, fabric. A mother escorting her son, pauses before a rack of red sweaters. She pinches the tip of the sleeve and rubs the material between her fingers. Her son wanders off, stands before a headless mannequin and surveys its plastic frame from bottom to top. A car approaches a parking spot behind me. Its headlights divide my stare by illuminating a sheen onto the glass. I see the boy dressed in gold vibrations and the mother notices her son’s absence. Her brow stretches to exhibit panic, but it’s quickly relieved as the boy returns, in the normal light, without headlights, next to a headless mannequin promising aesthetic balance, to save face.

I separate from this moment, saunter down the sidewalk, create footprints in the snow. A woman is walking towards me with her German-shepard-husky-hybrid fastened to a leash. He’s pulling her along. The dog struggles against the rope’s limitations and chokes himself. Together we meet in the middle of the block. Her dog sniffs my crotch. I notice booties strapped around the dog’s feet. 

“Are those for when he gets cold?” I ask. 

“No.” She responds. “He has separation anxiety. He claws at the door until his paw’s bleed.” 

I crouch and pet the dog, “I read about a woman in Brazil who did the same thing when she was buried alive.” I say. 

The woman tugs on the leash, motioning for her and the pet to take their leave. 

“Uh, have a good evening.” She says. 

love.

How do I love thee?, Let me count the ways

An achievement. “But” 

Lists are 

Set in 

complete. 

Love can’t format to assume linear growth.

Love never completes. 

“But.” 

Lists are 

Set in 

Complete.

Such permanence 

Confuses fog

For a haunting.

Agency lingers 

In memories 

Without names.


Natural phenomena 

Exists beyond

Consideration for 

Creation.

In love,

Fog censors growth

Following the ascent, 

To get stuck among 

Blue skies 

And roses

In love,

Is there too.

Word Finds and Pantomimes

*depression*

December mocks the odds

Corresponding person-hood 

And insects, giving all fours 

Praise to greater Gods, 

Named with children’s eyes.

Bargain sets numbers 

With windfall. 4 skips the leaves.

10 skips the plastic. 60

Skips the airwaves,

Including End of World 

Prophesies

Like virgin births,

Art movements,

Gambling for fun.

Winter months play screen glares

On skyscraper glass and illuminate the frost,

Stacking firefly ambitions,

Reserved for 

Closed window  

Company. 

Alone 

And docile,

But for the neighbors 

Signing in Marathi.

Distance measures silence,

“What did we mean 

When we said we 

Wouldn’t go to sleep

Angry?” 

In the distance

We slept silently alone. 

Frost designs 

Stayed the street lamps,

While behind the glass 

Darkness signaled a time

Where only shadows 

Are awake.

Before Bed

Her cheek resting

On my chest 

 Beneath my clavicle, 

Spacing 

A

Warm spot, 

Unable to distinguish 

Between heart beat 

And flesh. 

Her hazel stare 

Designates tunnel 

Vision. 

Air flow tightens,

Snore spurts 

Intermingle with 

Breath tickles. 

Room goes quiet. 

We’re dreaming now,

But I’m still awake.

An Appeal to the Simulation

“There is no aphrodisiac like innocence”
― Jean Baudrillard

Two 20 (dollar) bills 

Were set parallel 

On Tay’s dresser. 

I can’t tell.” He said, grabbing and 

Escorting a buck to his desk lamp.

He held it before a light-beam. 

The money functioned like a lens cover, 

Casting a mossy green spot-light

Across the room, ending inside a corner. 

What’s the watermark suppose ta’ look like?”

Tay’s forearms and hands tunneled the glow 

In shadow. “Beats me.” I said, shrugging my shoulders. 

You’re the expert.” 

I had assistance, though.”

Tay said. 

It’s easier to make a fake 

When you have help.” 

I grabbed the other dollar,

Folded it and rubbed the halves

Together. “What does that do?” Tay asked.

Saw it in a movie. Real money has like, uh, like

A grainy feel to it.”

That doesn’t sound real.” Tay said. 

Yeah?” I replied. “Neither does counterfeiting.

I mean…we’re talking FBI, federal-crime-shit here.”

Voices from strangers escaped the hallway

And infiltrated Tay’s apartment. 

Phonics stripped the dialogue of word comprehension,

Presenting, instead, tonal changes resembling aggression.

High pitched inflections met a guttural melody that was punctuated 

With a door slam and then silence as if not understanding was normal. 

I guess…if we can’t tell…that’s a good sign.” I said. 

I vote we spend some and see if it works.” Tay proposed. 

Democracy at its finest.” I said. 

We pocketed the money, gathered our phones and keys 

And left the apartment. We spent the walk to the gas station

Discussing what we’d buy. “I think I’ll buy cigarettes.” 

Tay concluded. “I can’t think of anything else worth the felony.”