Shark Week plays on every screen
in the hothouse tavern; the barkeep

wears a Jaws t-shirt and doesn't miss
a single shouted order tho she stares

at silvered flanks grayly gliding
by the man in the cage.

He points his camera at hunks
of blooded gristle-head that lure

the black gape. Hey, says Tom
at the right terminus of the bar,

it's like my wedding photos.
His friends laugh, no one else

is quite sure how funny it was.
The diver doesn't flinch even

when the bars are tusked in
by hunger's muscle; I marvel

& consider that this is a proper
attitude toward death, even if

a touch more Hemingway than
I might normally prefer.

When I exit into wet-wire dusk,
an almost-green marine evening,

I think of how eagerly we anticipate
the remorseless teeth that make

no distinction between us and the bait
we lay in our endless desire to know.

All seems different,
like a blurry landscape
with vanishing maps.
The distance from the past
keeps growing.
I slice through space and time,
on the chosen path,
along a trajectory of circumstances.
Against the denial of access,
against the gate closing,
just to hold together what was apart.

When I’m not tapped into a music stream.

I like quiet
no - let’s be exact,
I like silence
ear plugs in - deafening quiet
or better yet, noise cancelled anti-sound
That’s relatively new technology
My mom mentioned new studies suggest it may rewire things
gray matter wise, you know, behind the eyes
like the patterns sound forms in sand.

But if you’re going to scramble my mind
your going to have to wait in line behind
bland 21-year-old issues like:
sleep deprivation
hormonal fluctuations
romantic fog
case study competitions
business model design games (REALGAME)
deductive logic puzzles
irritability and mood swings
mental bandwidth anxiety
cognitive confusion
information overload
assignment stress
premenstrual syndrome
compulsive coping mechanisms
career anxiety
****** frustration
multitasking shifts (schedule)
canon events (existential dilemmas)
culture shock (new environment)
feeling “scrambled”
family pressures

So, yeah. let’s fn Jettison headphone worries - MOM - shall we??!
.
.
Right Now by The Creatures
A Girl In Trouble (Is a Temporary Thing) by Romeo Void
Your Turn to Run by Malaria!

Bootleg ***** in America has gone by many nicknames, from Blue Ruin, Moonshine, Mountain Dew, Coffin Varnish, Old Be Joyful, White Lightning, Rotgut, Popskull...


Queens and fathers, merchants and poets -
all seek appointments with Dr. Popskull,

when these days brim with fresh anxieties
that won't stop piling atop last nerves;

when sunrises now sizzle, haywire,
bringing bills and bad news, too soon by half;

even the weeks and months are mouthy,
won't shut up with their stubborn griefs.

Blue ruin brewing in the clawfoot tub -  
Old Be Joyful swigged sweet tot by tot -

bay *** blind in the corner store -  
Dr. Popskull fills prescriptions as fast

as dollars. Evening varnish vanishes -
happiness is borrowed from a future self.

All we need is darkness
for the natural selection of light
I watch the past as a travel show
the necessity or adversity ignites language,
different shapes of games, we like the power plays
of circle
let me be sealed in a wave
I want to descend to the faith of sand
to the Cro-Magno vision of words

I climb over the wreckage of you -
bent rusted iron, crumbled stone.
My cheeks - stained with soot,
hair -  dandruffed with ash,
skin - raspberried from sweeping the concrete
with my knees.
I unfurl the flag,
emerging from the tumultuous cocoon
of your cannon fire.
The colors fly - dancing with the bullets
in the summer soaked breeze.
I can just make out the haze of the gate
through the thick smoke pouring
from your tempered chest.
A smirk flirts with the corners of my mouth;
The resolute defense of the ruinous gloom
you will carry in dingy bags
made from the cloth of superiority.
I will feast upon a slice of cake
in the golden glow of morning.