Lex Caesarea ( The Emperor's Cut)

the doctors said the cord
was choking him

the harder she pushed
the more he died

she cried
then they cut him

away

he did not want to leave her

she says now he’s a miracle
he shouldn’t even

be a
life

so don’t forget it

the memory cuts a cross
opens her wide

the release meaning

she wanted him out
he wants back in

but not this way

the sign of his exit
etched endless
and timeless

beyond the skin

Machination
(refractions on Baudrillard; Dedicated to Luigi Ballerini)

Everything is operational, or it is nothing.


No more wanting, only getting people to want
No more doing, only getting people to do
No more being worth something, only getting something to be worth Something
No more knowing, only letting know
No more enjoying, only getting to people to enjoy

No more pleasure, only getting people to take pleasure,


We have lost our shadows
Revealed by the stage light from all angles, ex-
Posed and de-fenceless squinting against the glare
Her images and information unrelenting


This is the price we pay for sex
Why speak when its so easy to communicate

Lylic Idyllic Lyrics (circa 2006)
I was an angry youthful poet full of dreams and scemes

Trapped up in this building
you at the street level
writing about facades
and the shadow
and the cross walks
and the cars
and the simple notion of a thing called poetry


Massive amounts of worlds and words read and written
Things change
You’ll soon find out.
Small rooms will need to get bigger
Big groups will need to get smaller
It is a natural progression
for the perverts of language
I will stand here forever if I have to
I will repeat myself until I am blue in the face
I will preach my sermon 
so you know my lines backwards
We can’t keep this up.
The next level of the game is here
These small rooms will need to get bigger
These big groups will need to get smaller
I am not trying to cramp your style
Big words need to get smaller
Long sentences need to get shorter
Attention spans need to span
Words need a screen
Words need a project
or they will die in the next breath
Books will burn bright so we can light our cigarettes
beside the tabloids
It is time to mock the system and get paid
You better check yourself
All this turtle crawling to the finish line needs to cease
What are you doing?
Who do you think you are?
What are you changing, except maybe your mind
Have you found a character in me
I am
You write
So I ask you let’s make characters
I know the streets
the states
the lines of demography
economic stratification
I am here
We need more characters
It is time to make a plan
Whatever
Draw up the blue prints
get to work
I know only a few poets anyway
They all sleep late
with a blanket hung over the northern window