30 seconds
sound bites
regurgitated sawdust waxed with
pig fat
fact/a majority of Top hats fight
to keep the brother
hood down
alleyways trend
site waste
avoiding slants of sun/filters
the rats racing
or is it running up, downtown
aggressive footsteps, fingers
pound glass taps, is it up or
down, is it up or down
this flight of steps
stop, she says
mama’s got more stamps
for our daily bread
if we promise it
our last supper.

(sidebar: written while reading “The Lie Factory” in Sept. 24’s The New Yorker re: the creation of the political machine. EPIC = End Poverty in California – a slogan/platform created by author, Upton Sinclair, when he ran as a Dem in a then all Republican CA.)

**End Poverty in America


Your code arrived in my inbox without fanfare; filling digital space with an absurd humming that made the skin at the nape burn hot for just a moment. They say coders could be poets; in theory, yet, humans are not hungry digital boxes awaiting direction. Your letters build desire to chew on the relevant in this hollow enviro, holding human breath hostage. I feed on calculated line breaks battling tight margins, imagining when your tried to make me fit your tiny design. These Skinny jeans only slide because flesh is awaiting substance. Minimalist, your design preference, produces only desiccated bones. I guess this code is like this bad poetry. I’m chewing, but digesting nothing.

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