The bus awakes together. Soundtracks bleeding from earbuds and encousures 

are unnoticed because everyone does it

but me.

I enjoy the chorus of a dosen transportations

barely recognied as genre, let alone voice.

The intent disection of a mandrian newspaper

a couple snuggled on concrette embackment

pointing to the clouds.

The wifi hicups constantly

gmail rendering emails

like secret code passed from enemy lines.

Pennsylvania hills.

How the clouds stain acres

a richer kind of green.

The hours massage of imperfect highway,

heat of strangers arms that never greet.

Spied titles of chapters just started

through the place where headrests seperate:

The Silver Body

page 55

Dar knew that “things” mattered.

They all barbequed secert wishes.

It is the trumph of Huxley

over Orwell every cinco

with our hot mexican vomit

breathing into the confused breaze.

The lust that really means

you are fat and full of hormones

and drinking little wayne sized

portions of nightquil at 8pm.

Its still a cold rain. 

Its a snort replacing your commas. This

blissful new season. Nature will

coo once again as it tries so hard to kill.

You will not excape:

Whether the dead puppy

flopping at the end of your fist

or this aqward sweaty skin on your shoulders

the jacket is coming.

You can’t excape the jacket 

that glares like your mom

from the messy side of a couch

with it’s pockets full of yellowing tissues

and useless plastic that use to hold

the meds they make meth from. 

The legs are growing ripe from 

colorful sundresses I’ve been told 

but I can’t tell with my eyes all

black and sandpapery. Goddamn

I wish I had an eyepatch

and the abillty to walk like I’m sober

or a throatful of vanilla ice cream

followed by a painless death.

Too many think only assholes oppress.

Nice people dismiss. Ignore is worst then hate.
A kind oppression is a slow, inevitable holocoast.

A poison that hollows generations wide.

The stare in a upenn office space that says, yes
I understand this joke
just let me live to payday.

The day I was convenced
evolution spoke perfect english
was so happy. I got up ready
to shine the next morning.

I like racists.

They welcome the relief of a good shit.
They remember when Broken was worst then death.
When shame use to mean a thing.

My question is this:
How much oppresion is there in a 10 mile radius of your house?

In joke space: Would you rather kill a dog or Little Wayne?

No, you can not pick the breed of dog.
No, we are not discussing Iran.

I’m talking about a one city block of
crackhouse and family
when speaking of the slow sick disbowelment
we are calling: “unempowered.”

I am speaking of the weight
and cliche of
loving the black.

Tentacle of yarn feels
fine given time.

I woke up to a polyblend
anemone massage

and bits of old receipt where
there was once wood this morning

and made tea in a box with
no windows.

Somewhere in fairmount
the dinosaur machines

paw at the last remaining
crack house.

Plywood approaches the shape
of a place.

Stuccoed pastel like a cupcake,
they wait with scripted signs

across the street from Mr. Frank,
who sways in loose pajamas. Says

“We gonna die forever
big warren. We ain’t shit.”

Throw your best boomerang. Wait. Give up
almost and look. 
It’s back! Now what?

The practiced patience of a passersby pacing
Watching the gait for when to pounch on a train

The balance of mechanical stables that bring us to numbers.
Increasing climbing to daylight.

Shifts in the skin and season of fashion modeled
the tension of college folk laugh with clash of the hood

hiding in ipods
a cellphone pumping hardcore is almost invisible

the silent nod for the coming stop without
a word.

it is easy to forget
in a world of leadership synonymous
with corruption, dwindling
investment in
fire fighting and cute
as a fair substitute for solidity

that brave is not a karate chop
or the perfectly placed wit that
you wish appeared but a hand
to the one that stands in front of you
so obviously full of danger.

That courage
can be a name requested
to the one who forgot
they were fixed to such a thing.

The silent pause and
slight smile
in pondering
a response to an ego
trying desperately to shelter itself
in shame could be
your last action hero.

That this tossed off kindness
could be your great war.

The universe is
real simple when you’re placed
at the center of it.

Play the red band trailer every time

the lights dim

and the cheap butter sticky

floor of a soul seems charming.

When piercing the dense after 

hours second hand and sensing the funk

teasing through a slit between 

their two front teeth, play

the red band trailer that you really

only meant as a joke.

The version that lingers on

the gory details the extra second

like a dare. So the air 

starts to smell like sauna.

You don’t care how

your hair looks. The converstation

means nothing much more then 

a pace to match breathes to.

The edits are few. The transitions

are a sloppy thing you did in high school.

A introduction that laughs at itself even

as it farts. Blushes with a out-stretched tongue

and is so looking forward to featured

presentations. Attractions soon to come.