the Destruction of word(s)

I.
Of Course Point Off Track

Afternoon hustles the rails blare
A desolate lone spark ignites.
Hands clutch stick steel pole:
Sweat gently conjoins to tips
Passengers avoid direct eye contact
Locate dread-locks bangarang bongo drum
(singular) in stealth admission.
Guilt left

Reveal a fixed interval : precise demarcation.
Tracks stained oil goblets of lubrication
Glisten in steal beams offer reflection.
Opting for history of oppression
Not the happy-go-lucky capitalism.
Mass appeal loss to Marketing,
Stony-eyed executives erupt(ion)
Boom Chik Boom Chik Boom Chik
Tickets ripple, looming formal as dismal
Passion martyred safety prescription
Processing identity for perspective validation.























II.
Point to Smell the Air

The scent of lights Marlboro,
Matches lay burnt, darkened ends
Once ablaze from addiction.
Ash to filter

Tossed momentarily, the silence between
Boarding and squatting, no wink or nod
Active participation.

Doors shut, latch slid in
Air tight, a seal of approval.

No space for bodiless seats
Or any doubtful naysayers conducting
Colloquial business.

Contraction, one breath at a time
Sitting at the rail bar dismal yet comfort
In capital or whiskey sour.

Lunch was turket on
Freedom Toast, post commentary here.

Conduct nasal atonements, not for passengers
Locked in a light closet for top hats or fur coats.

Shivering in a moment, the carpet scent
Dirty laundry, one more hour to go.















III.
Point of Arrival (Identification)

Here or there in the broadest sense of the word(s). Never come home, not for one reason. Many unspoken phrases, whispered on this salty platform. Seafoam cloud skies over Brooklyn. At 3:00pm the top of the clock blurred. Self sacrifice was never a strong coat for anyone in these times.

Understand the man spoke to his motherless child. Lost conversation trails off into a tunnel. Cloak and dagger secrecy kept under the guise of protection. Camera take in visual cues, suspicion of skin tone not actual behavior. Tongues lash out spiral to sweaty palms, clinging to laminated stock. Numbers line up on a notebook pad. Cycles rotate.

Post-modern arrival delayed give way for change. Conversation locked in romanticized beliefs over outdated cultural mind sets. Spoken so trite and to the point, offensive in the nature of tension. A conundrum found in Washington crossing the Delaware. Rivers identify false truths to produce a basic thesis of… comments and questions will be taken after the lecture. Scoffing your feet on the welcome mat.

IV.
A Point of Blocks

International jet setters skitter past
Talk of experience and foreign land
Ambassadors huddle under dark dreary lampshades
Foreing aids order pints for their bosses
Welcome to a time square happy hour

(I hear of English dips drinking Canadian lager, oh quite the scandal).

Lost in a moments notice deporting location
For specific indignation of humorous antidotes
Deporting on 33rd in search of 9th
before a French karaoke outburst.

I make it a point of interest to intersect street corners
With flashing signals of passerbys,

Please streamline all rustling and bustling
For rush hour interruptions. Immigrating side walk
To nearest border, train of process lost.

Feet pound the pavement, the rhythm syncopates
Rubber soles burn up on this hallowed stone
Walking the same beat as so many others, repeating history
Constant de-ja-vu but in a moment of concise recollection.



















V.
A Point to Go Underground

Laughter splits out of the sidewalks
in rigged cracks, also in aluminum pots and pans
point to patterns of invention.
Mad hatter, Mandhatter, Manhattan
Reverb, echo, digital language
Or loss of ambient passion.
Statements of bliss.
Aesthetic expression wiggles
Onto shadows on the magnified white.
Silver guitars and saxophones cover crowds
Gushy notes and chords bleed in overtones.
In a smokeless carbon copy factory—
Knitting together hopeless phrases,
Strike riffs, mash keys all in unison.
Harmonious interludes sonic ambivalence
All proliferated in this floorless brick.
Safety in numbers of intelligent pro/con verse
Calculate flicks of tongues per beat.
Enunciating the proper artistic demarcation.
The moments left unbalanced, unchecked,
Recorded not in time, seconds late.






















VI.
(Make it) A Point to Part

Hallowed statements (grrrrrrrrrrr!)
Time lost in the city,
Inner upt and outer downtown (napkin,
Coordinating contortionists through Broadway.

Lapse in locomotive hustle bustle
Alleys shutter CBGB’s 53rd & Strummer, Joe military coat
Patches signifying classification, lost with words).

Joining hipster religious cults so 1…9….9….9
Ignition: key in the car, take me back to the futon,
Mattress noises shake the crusty walls.

Ticket times melt into the digital screen at the Greyhound station,
Board until full, smoldering feet revert to inclination.

Eyelids lapse, parting shots, depart time imminent
Blue warning level, slight alert interest lost.

Holland tunnel darkness, one interval (to meditate
On turnpike rest stops speaking in neurotic voices.

Characters all part of an unending skull and bones conspiracy theory--
to alleviate rye bagels?)
The skyline visible for a number of exhaust miles,
Which I stopped counting.

















VII.
A Point of Concept

Too hard to place in a small plastic container
Obtuse in definition, replay the placement of constant doubt.

Rift-raft : lifeboat sinking in the words-spoken-less.
To give up on the unattainable, numb to the touch.

Etched stretched finger nail, skin sore from constant :
(a realization) that Man Cannot Live on Bread Alone.

A belief revolutionary protest to reject all that is not concrete,
to abolish all that is rational, all intellectual pursuits quietly
disregarded in the back of a hickory-smoked closet.

To look at the concrete abstraction of discomfort,
the remnants of the past still remained in awe (unattached).
Left without constant remainders but just illusions :
real-ness in search of the unmistakable to mutter in silence.

Wandering on the borderline until the pressure implodes
leaving you balanced on a beam of decision
to repeat previous miscalculations a refusal to move on.

The plan was never fully revealed to mutter in steps
or points of progress but to fully lay out a oral / written
map of the moment : the note in the hand still remains days left
symbolism of specific Locus Ruine.
Swarm the lot of description, picking and gnawing on the rope
to reject the loft of isolation. Babble on one too many glasses of
Red Wine in a Box. We slept on glass in the alley but it never broke.

VIII.
A Point on the American West(erns)

Scene: Zen Vegan Smoke Shop/Café in Yuppie City, USofA

A pen is an (inner) compass
but lets brighten the neo-conservative
neon-fire baptism in moans
straight laced bump fuckin’ whore.

Excuse my tone but the word is out:
Best of the West is dead, cocksucker.

Whispering in my ear
how she told me *#@&!
under corporate bleached nostrils.

Crimson state confusion aqua bodies,
exploit the nature of emergent bloodshed,
MSNBS soapbox errata orgasmic.

Drudge the sewer for inter-media conglomerates
like John Wayne flipping preservative hamburgers
reduced to begging for another Sandinista or Bay of Pigs.

Liberal news blog backsplash like mouthwash in the sink,
a green residue remains like the money lined pockets
as the seed splintered onto a concrete slab oozing machismo.

I wrote this down inspired by flatness
genetically enhanced grass and salt of the sphere.
Her hair mixed in her eyes hiding pieces of her,
speckled in my blotched sight through lunar brightness.
A future seemed unimportant in a constant embrace.
her voice speaking of the lack of trueness in my being.
She held my thin stubs, gentle circles engrained touch.
Navigation from each globe around and around
tra-la-la-la melodies gorge beneath the lips.
In this moment her warmth cleanses as shingles shake
her name gently blown in my ear.

(Testimonial)

Proxy Sam Elliots pillage the villages, free radicals
infected periodicals smearing smoke-stains from the ink
St. Petersburg was certainly no paradise under Peter.









IX.
[Point] On Flight

Midnight smoke crisp, rushes through my nostrils
as Columbian coffee purrs in disposable foam.
Newspapers dispersed across shag carpet floors

blurred stories in newsprint,
black & grey fingertips remain

while faces rippled and obtuse revel in checkpoints.
Translucent neon reflection numb

destination : destruction.


[exclamation]
I like “d” words.
The enjoyment of hour and a half searches
“d”etecting if terror is atleast admissible
in court, grounded in the middle-
ground of justice and truth.

Sao Paul never seemed so brutal and honest,
wild flashes staring at the American imported from New York
never did the “Body of an American” mean so much.

[wide mouth amazement]
Fed with paydays and “d”iet Coke,
watch out they have razor sharp industry.

Two linguistic parallels squander so close
in language yet far apart in meaning.

[the film ended cut to cassette walkman, outdated, no eye-pod] Bruce Springsteen never sounded so free[da-dum].














X.
Blue Bodies

What would Pound do?
with pudding skin pollution
wonder in shades of dark waves
lackluster in moist details.
Legs spread feet arched,
while a bubble floats to the top.
Gently splashing evasion
like a washer rotating on ‘econo-safe’ cycle.
Useless advances reverberate
scratchy numbers line up on a notebook.
Industry cannot apply practical ability,
yet our novice illogical comprehension
ss easily commodified, expired, or outdated.
A big river becomes a watering hole
baptize me in Baltimore’s natural bohemia.
The rye cries of whiskey sink in Old Bay,
harboring all but sprinkled in Natty Boh.
Head to toe, emerge talk in tongues
deep in Dundalk preaching words
to jobless, toothless, hopeless repeating
“less is more” in a disjointed scene.
A holistic man with gentle whisper
preaching to the crowd, disciples stumble
harmonic processions as nude bodies
contort in towels and togas.


















XI.
The Point About Evacuation

Sympathy in screeching wheels
words spread about black top
signs point to routes to be taken in an emergency.
Unending and wet like the pages
burning holes in a pocket.
Sharp coy phrases, paper thin in touch,
plans fragile in existence.
Excessive in absorption :
M o I s T n u m b n e s s.
Whitman scoffs with beady eyes
objective glances without a forward motion.
Feet walk, feet talk for miles and blocks
I hear Babylon is not burning but lost.
Lets do lunch in hallways after scares,
to error is divine but to terrorize is American.
Clint East meets Roy West
spaghetti format (bang bang shoot em up)
a showdown in Phoenix City.
Subliminal advertisements signal low warning
exhale sheer brutality of post modern comfort.