Friday, March 4, 2011

The Community Garden

As panopticon fried steak: what happens in the community stays
Caught and dour.
What happens is an antibiotic injected into the leg
Of a limp chicken under the dry sun.

You lick the antibiotic off your dinner plate
With your black tongue
And then black milk drips from your third nipple
Because now you are a dog.

This is why no one will allow you your bizarre sexual practices.
Because you are a dog.

The heart is like metal that slams
Into an ice field, a closed
System of opening gills; I see you walking across the ice field
Towards me holding a chicken or steak knife
Or the fried heart of a small mammal.

The fish swim to the center of the earth and burn up.
Even they cannot get away
From their enormous blood or geology.

Everyone gets old and is replaced by these

Tremendously fueled fish hormones
Swimming to the center of the earth.

Some people have sex. They exist.
They cut each other’s necks

And then they kiss. They kiss
Their kisses into a closing system of gills

And then you hear something splash.

Space exists.
It exists on the other side of their chicken water kiss.

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