"with bugs and microbes"
martin 

we let go
we surrender
we make no sound
just a gentle whisper
as we fall down to the ground

winter's coming
our job is done
another passing summer glory
now our work is in the under storey

we keep our date
with bugs and microbes
and all the little litter critters
feed them in their life of toil
helping to enrich our deep dark nubile soil

when the weather warms
season's storms have passed
our winter's work will bear good fruit
as leaves come out again at last

"I am the microbes I am swallowing,"
Mike Bergeron 

Sitting at a bar
In a palace built by
Nineteenth-century slaves,
And the back of my shirt
Is soaked from the
Hundred degree weather.
I rub my neck,
Wipe the hot perspiration
From it with my hand,
Only to pick up
My glass of beer
And get it's cold sweat
All over my palm.
I ask the bartender
About the nets
Obstructing my view
Of the gold-flaked,
Hundred foot ceilings,
But he doesn't know
Why they're there,
Or just doesn't care
Enough to humor me.
Happy hour prices
Segregate me and my soul
From the charcoal
Suits shuffling past
As they head to
The trains that will
Deliver them to
Their BMWs
So they can drive to
Their wine cellars
And plastic wives.
The history of this place
Is suffocating me,
It's thick in the air,
As are the dialects
Of dozens of states,
Shouting to each other
Or to themselves
Or to god.
I pay our tab
And dive into
A red line train
Like a CVS syringe
Into a junkie's arm,
And rush away from
the city's heart
With the other cells,
Through tunnels buried
Beneath the birth and death
Of the American scream.
If I fall asleep,
I'll never wake up,
The dream will replace
The reality I've created.
The steady thrum of
The train croons to me,
But the acidic stench
Of July humanity
Keeps me locked
In this scenario.
The darkness flees
As we breach the
Border of daylight.
Jetskis on the Potomac
Remind me of what
I don't know.
Dreaded beards
On weathered sacks
Of human decay
Perched on plastic seats
Remind me of what
I've painted as real
In my underexposed brain.
I'm exhausted,
All my water has
Evaporated, risen,
And I'm a Little drunk.
My eyelids are heavy,
And move like
Hurricane barriers.
Open:
Same scene,
Different passengers.
Closed:
Spiral staircases
Of neon fibres,
A religious maven
Spitting his canon,
Fleeting images of
Hardwired memories
I've grown old
Trying to erase.
Open:
He's staring right at us.
The man in the
Periwinkle shirt
And the bronze
Kmart tie.
His sweat shines
Like young paint
On an Oldsmobile,
His double chin
Is tanned to
The color of his tie,
And he knows too much.
He knows more than I do,
More than I can take.
His eyes shine
With the knowledge,
The stupid grin
Plastered on his
Greasy face
Knocks me out.
Closed:
The sky is vast,
And unscathed by jealous clouds.
The crystal clear water holds me up,
Its pressure on my back
Is as refreshing as it is comforting.
Max and Andy splash and laugh to my left.
The pond water in my ears
Distorts their sounds,
But the mushrooms in my blood
Explain them.
Jesse is coming,
Doing well at keeping his cigarette dry,
Swimming with one arm.
I feel something unlock inside me,
Forget it's June,
That I'm floating
In this lake
For the first
And last time,
That I'm still
In Rhode Island,
That the love
Of my life
Is in Virginia,
I forget my limbs,
My hair,
My skin,
My cock,
My heartbeat,
The stellar iron in my blood,
And as the water fills my lungs,
As the shouts commence
And sight fades,
I am reborn,
I am the microbes I am swallowing,
I am the glow of the nearest star
Glinting off the rippling surface,
I am the sand beneath me,
I am the air pushing the pine needles,
I am alive,
I am open:
I am still on a train
In Washington DC
And this fucking guy
Knows too much.
His lips are wet with it.
It's written in the part
Of his thinning hair,
In the way he's thumbing
the pages
Of the book he isn't reading.
I can't contain the shout,
The burst of wasted pride,
The "Fuck off!"
The "What do you see that's so fucking interesting?!"
I can feel Ali's hand
And the eyes of
All the passengers in the car
Fall upon me,
And the pressure
Caves in my skull.
From my sunken face:
"I'm a reasonable man, get off my case."
"I'm a reasonable man, get off my case."
"I'm a reasonable man, get off my case."

"I'm a reasonable man, get off my case." -Radiohead
"From microbes to oceans"
Andrew Wenson 

Quilts hang, wet on clothesline
More than seven suns pass yet they stay drenched

Hellfire couldn't stop
Storm-clouds in the hearts of an entire species
Brands that singe the arteries of life
From microbes to oceans

Placed on the altar of Earth
Dubious goals led us far away from our homes
Viruses envy our might
Kilowatt-hours rule

Another poem composed using my chance operations ruleset.
"their microbes shared unintentionally,"
Richard Matheson 

My Brittle Star arms detach in the acidic water of you.

I stir, and try to escape the gaping tremor or your teeth
uncovered face
free of meat.

Roaches crawl inside your skull,
the bone powdered with the years,
all that remains:
Toskavat.

You are an Incan Mummy, the sack pulled off,
as rosy-cheeked, young boys stare through misty bus windows
still spackled with flecks of mud from your wet road.
They smile -
their microbes shared unintentionally,
a condomless foam party.

"Some diseases aren’t caused by microbes;"
Kenny Brown 

You fell asleep on my chest today
With my boring words leading you by the ears.
I carry a sponge in my pocket for your tears
But lately I’ve been using it on myself more.
Words shatter when they hit the ground
And I realize that I didn’t mean them
But it’s too late because you’ve already stepped on the splinters.
First blood can’t be drawn without a close second
In quarters such as this.
A kiss is like anti-venom
But I don’t want to be the snake
For the sake of preserving our garden.
Some diseases aren’t caused by microbes;
My lobes have been whittled to an edge
Or maybe I was born with an obsidian brain
Walking this extensive prison searching for my shard.
I will use this curse to guard the hearts of Aztec infidels.
Fate is like spilling alphabet soup to see what it spells.
I cast spells with unkind words but there’s no divine intervention,
It’s me who carries out the prevention of progress.
Distracting the problem by removing her dress
Makes me feel better and worse at the same time.
A tight grip leaves little room in the palm.

"nce they housed the hearts and minds of microbes that built them."
Lendon Partain 

I wandered in on a world of dead rock. I laid with it. Smelt the essence together with carbon and metallic lifelessness.
To create a place of pretty. A sadness overcame.
I came to feeling. To knowing. Sentient.

A rootless contusion never ending.
A bottomless chasm of void.
The pit follows deeper and deeper it travels,
To the hollows of sorrow contempt I’m born.

I grow to feet from the ground where I lay,
As my body draped the floor sprawling and loose.
Upon these legs I rise, and so rise my eyes.
The hollow void I have lingers yawing in my stomach. Ulcerating my mucosal cavern.

What I see
Before me
On this road
On this desert of the necropolis:

Metropolis mass grave,
A mausoleum for civilization,
Möbius of war.
The reflective glint in my eye was of no mans eyes at all.
The death of hope.

Sea of sky scraping spires.
The dead hollow bones left after a city extinguishes.
Millions of towers with red glowing eyes, where blue life used to flourish, now twinkle in and out of this plane.
These giants graze, on the concrete and sway...with the wind.
Colossus of marble, petrified forever in granite with the internal flora that haunted their bowels.
They now have no agenda...city percolates to extinction.
They will forever amble with no purpose.

Once they housed the hearts and minds of microbes that built them.
The builders of hero worship.
They died in the 20's.
Left are the shells of a dream and a forest of buildings.
New York died circa 1900.
United States crumbles: 1776

The movie 9.
The Industrial Revolution.
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