causing rusted helmets
we sleep between dusty raids on the pallisade fences
the baton-smart robot eating itself
my pop is some kind of candle-form, a glowing plate
and the depleted yellowcake drips to my feet
bed-sore and pipestained, sooty and smog.
i feel for puppets and dollies and concrete people
the tent all sagging under humid rocks
her eucalyptus burn-offs
set the scarps fast n climbing
these trembling faces under each police boot
her neck stiff leather; mine resting close and closed
and pushing throbbing wasting cleavage
heaves at him at me at them those groups of
anarchista based remedies - this open-source love.
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