Samantha's dark words, terror, etc.

"Drake firebombed Poverty in the face.
Her heart melted and her face sloughed off
scattering white-red-black bits of stone and molasses
onto the dirt path she trod.

One formed a slime mold, which scurried
off in search of butter and marmalade.

Another formed a teacup, which instantly
cracked and filled itself with tea leaves.
   (Delores! Oh! Another teacup tragedy!) 

A third formed an inkwell, which brimmed
over into the internet
and formed this malevolent post
on a "blog"
that only two people and several dozen
spambots or illiterate foreigners / denatured
worthless malingers of the English language
happened upon if they
Google weird shit.

A fourth formed a revision to the bot-hating
sentiment just expressed, a fifth joined the NAACP
(the Russia & China chapter, for the all the
computers) and a sixth

grew into a tree, that will one day be set
afire by my cancer, just like my skin, my eyes,
my face, my breasts.

This is how the world will end. Drinking
black milk and howling."

   --Samantha

the disagreement began

our bodies are bubbles
baubles, really, bouncing &
floating like teacups designed
by portly neighbors who do
not want to brag about their
caches of candy and acne &
breadmeat, true to the marrow
a real & nourishing shadow
of the blunt that once sliced
through both rind and ribbon.

this is sharp -- no it isn't
and so the disagreement
b e g a n

lawless colors

our ancestors
lawless colors all
are manifest --- folds in a blanket,
     some extreme, like gunpowder ---
ripe but for the fresh intervals of nothing
a cow leaning against a calf, his
mother, grooming, not noticing this once
(as always) the imperceptible halt of the slanted sun
her afternoon rays gracing a meringue, left out to dry
we are sad trumpetfish, drying also, hung in the wind
saddles

our ancestors
lawless colors all :::
but the law of less color
thus colored, draws
some variety of picture not worth infusing
with hope or a rapturous goodbye
between fishermen a winter dock
casting rods

our ancestors
lawless colors all
do delude us, recede
even as we chase them
their memories
like tourniquets choking off blood
to the torn hearts of tomorrow

our ancestors
lawless colors all

ours the land of lawless colors
green gray and sunshine muted
a grassland of treacherous thieves
& gunhounds

pt 4

We live in a pumpkin
(pump it pump it)
We live in a pumpkin
(party's thumpin)
I'm outta my gourd
I see God
walking towards
Him now
Heaven, it's hot
but hell if I care
Hello there...did I mention I'm a munchkin?
Munching pumpkin seeds (for lunch)
monkeys punching me (crunch)
low on funds
but high on fun
I still have a gun
On a ferry with my Godmother
Cinderella story
Fairy tales are boring
stepsisters whoring themselves out

Congratulations, you're a rabid racist.
Rapping about stars
rapping about mars
wrote a verse about planets
came out just how I planned it

pt 3

Watching TV in Costa Rica makes me feel guilty. Pero los deportes en TV son el mejor "way" a aprendar espanol. Next up: I figure out how to say "way" in spanish.

We're on the ocean
motion
We're drinking potion
lotion
all tan everything
tan buttcheek
tan slutfreak

Josh Jones is deaf
middle name Jeff
or Jean, like Wyclef
whose charity in Haiti
is a disparity, lately
this salad so carrot-y
hilarity, hilarious
nefarious - do I care? yes
no
too many cares in the world
too many bears in the woods

freestyle pt 2

Vasco de Gama
yay-o
Galileo
Pico de Gallo
Cinco de Mayo
Maya Angelou
Oh my
Evangelical words
Umbilical Cords
Biblical swords
point em towards (someone else)
you're something else (obviously)
we are all matter
we don't all matter though
we are all matadors
universal truth: the universe is huge
this verse is a deluge
I makeup words - rouge
So well-read that I'm blushing
I'm mushing baby food
I'm a baby, dude.

Transcribed freestyles

from costa rica
which look better in print

Part 1

"I've got a story for you:
I've been to Willy Wonka land
I've been to Mars
I've crossed into the land of Ecodeath and returned to tell the tale..."

that was Erik's intro, I can't remember what his actual story was about.

cold-weather question: open window screenless?

 are  there  maybe  no
insects    outside    yes

cipher & Mexican voices

[unspoken introit:] [note to self: memory's
the mother of the muses] bloom-forth, old Mexican
twins of labor & obscurity / contentment

1. uno [voz primera]

--thought maybe the Navajo mother-of-two  to herself
also Mexican
her now smooth and flattened womb, her hand atop,
    (her stomach,)
on Sunday morning, after finding an old caramel
her children had not eaten     for Christmas:

i am      a Mexican     in blood & labor sound
i am     a marvelous being   si   in blood & constitution
proud, this new nation   new   i shall not fail
   to make proud
   to make, my children

2.

she is [her]    a MEXICAN   a motion supported
 ( like South against Yankee North )
by the belief : bigger = better   , REALLY IS
 
   [thus trumped is, her hold on the manacles
of the body politic,]

   [in the background,   Arizona,   this new land,
   of neighborhoods & Cacti]


   [new & not new, like love
   in it & out, pregnancy & hope, marriage, divorce,
   tragedy and maybe murder (...maybe), hopelessness,
   at once. of course,
   at once.]



3. dos [segunda voz]

I am a Mexican
with no rapport
& no reports
on positive developments.

Robot readers [01001010100110 :: hello]

Most of my readers are robots
or spam boozers or clandestine monkeys insane / undignified / as calcified
as brother barnacles.

The romance between the caldera & the camera crew.

The lame bus babies & the busboys
look incandescent --  puzzling, she says to herself,
tending to a sprig of burning sage -- who are you? --

These are the
boasted-out posers on the edge of limbs, cancerous mellifluous munchers
of popcorn & pizza luncheons. Like tunics draped over the sedges of women
around which they hiked together, in the drab cold, (planted here,
a hedgerow) these men are the moonshine
& their children are monsoons.