We impose desire In between the air Of airport transit And the promised threats At destination
Words are slices of time Together with few bags They travel with us After the duty free If surrounded by noise They allow forgetting I will love you As a collateral of revolution
Shyness messes with class privilege I am a bad minority -- my ancestors Are without electricity Or blood They stopped fixing broken lightbulbs When few years ago A miracle caused no one to change My hair grew despite porn And when I sat next to the candidate I smiled politely and desired him One of the campaign alternatives was suicide So we stayed outside the masses And handed out fake emails We failed and failed and it worked out
Some days I am grateful for insomnia Like when you sleep on my shoulder And it softens my politics There is no need for the imagination A world is ending slowly I am sipping tea instead of coffee And I am grateful For the poetics of walking the streets For the luxury of insomnia When you sleep on my shoulder And it softens my politics
After short struggles against ergonomics I cook breakfast And we gain one more day because of storytelling
All we had to offer then was our obedience And they accepted it Although - in truth - it was never enough To build a comfortable story around childhood Or about the nothingness of our modified resumes Our cities were dusty Our cities were massacre ready: They taught the shapes of our bodies to all kind of sociologists And transformed our obedience into mild ridiculousness Then secured our existence from staff changes in the middle of the shift We drank our alcohol safely It was worth the blood...
these cracks filled with carbohydrates in the dust of the bourgeoisie and its imposed death the world weighs we are created equals within an illegitimate love and the different shapes of fear
I want to write you this dirty Email about desiring your Desire and vice versa - this email Will be a snapshot of Our bodies and it will be Inadequate - it won't be able To fully recall how it felt having Breakfast at the greasy spoon While we smelt of each other - No wait - you took a shower - I Didn't - I wanted you on my skin For few extra hours - and then in This strange city - all cities Are strange - we found that Making love for long yields Happiness - I am happy today Reading books and I want to Write you this dirty email About nothing
This is not about seduction It is about hanging out tonight While surrounded by capitalism It rains And we call it love This continuous threat of collapse
I want to be lost in Seattle dimness Turning slowly into a nature poet Writing about leaves changing colors And ugly highways - I will ride the bus to work And hide from the passengers - I will Also hide hope in an okay refrigerator
We have to accept the naivete of the of the world As money moves us from one parking lot to the next While chanting useless words to mark our involvement In these deaths -- now I look at a long street daily And it doesn't help to think of the division of labor As the starting point of this tragedy
It is admirable to do things other than touching one another I'm talking here about language -- its fumes, and miniature arguments The visio diagram we drew won't take us anywhere This is a salute to desire as the mad ones linger behind We ride the cart -- socialist and business strategists To go there - a clean suburb of Facebook posts
It is an ending world, so no one writes us In the middle of it I mentioned you And now I am Northbound -- So I cry when seeing things melting - In this great melting pot
Feeding our devices electricity They produce imaginary lovers And white collar immigrants: Tonight I'll hitchhike Through many doorknobs Maybe all of this hinges on Aristotle We still have to find an exit strategy Through these black and white squares