Origins

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(Robert Rauschenberg, Overdrive)

 

They sent me off

with the lunatics.

 

The shattering laughter implied

I would be assigned a new identity

shortly.

 

Once they broke into

my dreams

I heard the bell

sound black.

 

There were already several inches

of rain.

 

Do not tell me

you don’t hear it.

Do not,

for one second,

lead me to that place you name

integrity

and then convince me

of silence,

then

help me, God I’m dying,

down here upon the shore,

I can’t think or feel anything

anymore.

That wasn’t supposed to be heard.

It wasn’t supposed to be know that

these were the words I prayed

even after I stopped praying.

 

There is nothing

where there once

were gallant and geological features

I could piece or stack,

or even chisel away at,

if that’s what I felt

I needed to do.

 

But now I am empty.

I am changed.

 

The gravel, the barbs,

the pooling rains

that settle within that space

drown in the yellow waves

of the sea.

 

 

 

 

From Both Ends

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(Robert Rauschenberg, Untitled)

 

A mercenary

tracks her murder

to a controlled burn

tourniquet

strangling

men with AR’s

guarding

a pathological sense

of entitlement.

 

She has taken on the characteristics

of the war.

 

She hunts a corrupt, criminal

underground,

an invisible

crime scene.

 

She wears the

collateral black

violence

too few have endured.

 

She ranges a more

encrypted description

of the suspects.

 

A dying man

drones psalms

from the old country.

 

Another is waiting.

To Live

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Hieronymus Bosch

I will meet you

somewhere between the

theta waves

and this wounded refusal

to die.

 

But you have to be there,

truly be there

amidst the graves

and the killing laughter which

revels in your

every death.

 

The thefts,

and the burns

broadcast

a sudden madness,

your premeditated

deterioration.

 

Only when I washed up

on these brinks,

did I choke

on the tombs

of those killers.

 

The next storm

has already been planned.

 

I will be here

if you need me

with nothing left

to be taken.

 

The Clear, White Tomb

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Now that you have been / silenced / properly humbled / a drooling / rocking / little weirdo / thoroughly affected / by our incessant drownings/  the innocence /we killed out of you /gives birth to dead babies / all over your lily white apron / shame, shame / now join us in the rose garden / won’t you?/

They called themselves soldiers / just in time for the public hanging / a family event / a lost soul / so full of life / such a talent / she used to be / the coppery-green / in an abstract impressionist sky / singeing the pages/ a gossamer vision of the Virgin / channeling the subconscious / strapped down / a medical procedure / they called it / it was for the best / they insisted /

They called themselves saints / deliverers of retribution / really they were either / criminals / so-called seekers of social justice / or simple minions hoping to exercise / a newfound sense of power / they had never been given / an excuse to use violence / to make their point / orgasming a sadistic need to control / to hurt others / in ways they themselves had probably been hurt /

Always a swarming / a crashing all around / ritualistic/  in nature / it was hilarious/  entertaining/  her strange reactions / to things undetectable / trying to seek refuge / she was stalked / to the clear, white tomb / maniacal, bloody laughter / severing / a prismatic destiny / from the universe’s/  fragmented womb /