Thursday, December 25, 2008

Drop Bombs

Who wakewalks through

Vision quests and the

Collective unconscious of

The diasporic church,




Who with infant hands and

Stained lips,

With war song lullabies and

Bile jealous piss,


Who dreams with the bath water and

Plants dead trees in



Who lives in your mouth.


Who never learns.


I've been sleeping in circles again.


I'm living my days in a cardboard box.


This is the universe.




What am I looking for?

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