The Prodigal Daughter

check the typesetting
hollered over the shoulder
covered by a dungaree strap
format the words to fit
the form (it’s all just form,
mumbled under breath)

faces covered with
dewey sweat/intellectual: dirt

strike the template
and get a new one
stop the press while yer
at it b/c it’s obsolete
no access to new technology

she told me today that she’s afraid of the bugs they wear on their ears
do they even know what they look like?

like the shell described in a bradbury book
we were all made to read as children

factory workers are fine
tuned robotics, sleek
sex ambiguous giving him
a hard(on) like only a well
oiled machine can

metal arms gyrating
shiny parts/mechanical: clean

staring past the factory
denizens from an observation window
excitement pupils large
(now yer talkin w/o
thinkin, writin with no soul)

she mused that maybe they would be embedded in us from birth someday
like we wouldn’t have a choice to join them

we are transfused with ones and zeros just as platelets
and the count is definitely down

photo from euthman’s flickr

what it actually looks like (i had to use a screen shot):

it’s a very distinct crack
that makes things black
just for a moment until the smoke
from the airbag clears
it smells like an arsenal explosion
the state troopers will wave a pen in your face
and tell you that you’ve failed feild sobriety
but back at the station your
breath will prove otherwise
and you’ll feel like god won’t let
you in, like a bouncer at the door
of death, plush purple ropes off
the front and no matter how many
times you try the back door is locked
he says there’s something outside for you
but you’ll be dammned to find it

he’s there in the desert
but it might as well be your mind
all paths to voice recognition
shut off

you hate them for all they are
but also because you can’t
it’s not allowed
“we are your blood”
hook the tubes up for a transfusion
flush out the system
the blood has gone bad and
now it’s the wrong type
flush him all out and only god knows
“your family needs you”
not in death, no
this is not the way to do it
kicking and screaming refusal
invitation to a wake
not awake her body was a vessel
for something bigger then her

Boston needs to lighten up, or at least get cable television:

Gorilla marketing seems brilliant to me. So if I ever need to hire someone to promote me these guys will.

we’re sorry you have reached a number that is disconnected or out of service…………………………….

I.
flown over again to
where the december air
is grey, not blue
 like the air seen in your
 eyes 
	
that night you didn't sleep
	
snow in chicago and more in philadelphia
from the wing window seat
mechanical devices screech
the dull roar of the engines
	
II.
the sky is never as blue
the grey misery of industry a comfort
	
		in the belly of the metal air tank
		in luggage is you, devotion is hope
	
III.
a morning ruined
with the fate of moving
	
moving away from the unknown into
a pre set fabrication
scan the lines for a honorable mention
never the victorious prize 
	
                          scars mark
                          and fade
	
what is original material
     if stolen from the reality of flesh
mark the skin
hold the heart
go to bed hungry for a
relapse