Rubber bullets rebounding off the backs of passengers at Atocha. Which
Nation really loves work? He climbed a pole rigged with cameras in
Bahrain wearing a balaclava. Tectonic seizure continuous cuts. A
Committed Poetry. He swung that hammer. No, which nation really
loves work?
*
Lost for a time in the abstract country of your name. Leave me now
in the head-house.
Just call me the LOL assassin, or forget to. Austerity is a metal
spike to adorn our vague tongue with acid dislocating speech.
English, the language of knives and incorporations,
the language of instruments
*
Always to work. I am a hammer broken
against work
Work and fortune are two symmetrical dreams. Taught after
becoming teachers to “think” our obsolescence. Hey you,
clearheaded not head full of clouds watch the cumuli sweep
the future
/ not here
*
All of nature changing outside the window. A clear sense of office /
destruction
The university a gray dream retreating on an infinite plane.
Voices losing their meat discussing the body as an already dead
thing. The presumed living operate imaginary hammers and
everyone’s phone continually drops into jeweled
sucking mud
*
Walking out into the street / An end
