Suds in the spotty water
painting the sea with pee
Moby Dick chunking out the air drain
Melville stolen blubber beast into fiction
then oil was discovered underground
Whale ships became museums, so did we
Dissolve the fat in smoothie drinks
the sugar is the antidote the past
the dream is the screenplay
but what the fuck is the third act
Can't write the word "penis" but there it is
the womb always runs toward the money
Can't fault the soccer mommy
for escaping into the security state
Her secret is back there, at the pawn shop,
in rows of red, white and blue guitars
Living on the edge of Brit TV detective
amusements upon the intimacy of strangulation
Poor Laws re-enacted, the "Lion King" redacted
The guns of London and the industrial revolution
She cradles us in liberty as the lathe cuts and runs
Genocide fences for the hunt, the machine hums,
trickling up the U.S. Stock exchange, tisk tisking
the rising crime rate on the smart phone, ringing
Revolution, evolution, auto-tuned into resistance
Who would ever risk losing the anti-tax clicks
when somewhere in the dark, baby kicks,
behind the wooden door without a nob
Teilhard de Chardin is knocking from the Noosphere
in the white blanks enveloping what we call poetry
