• The Resolution Issue

    Out Here Tonite and Living Will

    The Resolution Issue
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    A site for poetry, for ways of thinking and writing that are impossible to consolidate with a political or conceptual vocabulary.

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    Mask Staff are everywhere and nowhere.

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    The Grapevine Telegraph

    Out Here Tonite and Living Will

    OUT HERE TONIGHT (Techno Tropicalia)

    Bursting protea and waxy monstera
    Stand in a bouquet box in front of mixers tonite
    Glowing tubes hang off the white wall,
    Silhouetting my shadow friends
    Shaved hooligans with hoover sounds
    To the beat of fuck! twelve! for! life!
    It’s about praxis and that means drugs and dancing
    Power Play starts late at the Y and no one
    Wants to think about fungibility at this hour
    DJs wait for overpriced pizza and the acid
    To hit them like a chemical flood light
    The prima linea convulses, jacked with intent,
    As the illegal alien on Rustruct’s white tee raves
    The rich may never have owned taste
    Yet we still stole that back from them
    My girl hands me hits of this and giggles,
    “I have to look at you too!” about the schlubby
    Black bloc-ers that don’t the about the big A
    As in, Aesthetics. As in, she looks like the statue
    Of Nike? To look good for her, like, literal survival?
    I ride her vibe and skipp around my thoughts
    C. is on the roof donned in black linen,
    Like a godhead floating in a nightlake,
    Speaking of Fumiko Kaneko’s life
    I am bracing my eclipsing body, coming down
    The stairs as my friends’ faces holograph into
    Wet-green foliage with sunburst
    Orange red berries for eyes, a mask
    impenetrable to surveillance

    I left
    I left pieces of my haunches there
    For my panthers to feed on





    Living Will

    This is my last radical act:
    Live through my friends dying,
    A spent sow with deflated tit
    Working a tool with cracked fingertips
    Wake early to wash
    Their dead bodies and carry them back
    Listen to their last gasp, their final
    Complaint about losing sight of the struggle,
    Write their last rent checks, tell the news
    To their children, comfort their parents
    And come home to water the crops at dusk
    Listen to their lovers fight about
    Their recently acquired financial and
    Emotional debts while I preserve my
    Comrade’s bodies with plant oils and latex
    Wail the prayer chants with the mob
    While I start the funeral pyre on a dry and
    Open clearing in the woods
    Read and proofread such-and-such
    Theorist’s commemoration, pick up the
    Group of hitchhiking artists, laugh real
    Laughter, cry real tears, shine real
    Guns and drink water to sober up
    Unsexed and unseen, I would very much
    Like to sit down and stare at the sea
    I pace my gait and look ahead





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