In a metal-making city, horses die young
And cemeteries are full
Of pretty and vanished, impoverished women,
Cold and insoluble,
Chemically driven.

Bar -barian, -biturate, bitch-irate, frictionless.
Total loss of pressure, cabin fever, picture it.
Skin like a latex balloon, which she's filling with

Arsenic, pledge of allegiance and blood
Thick like honey, smelling of rot,
Black like birthmarks, boys getting shot

Insinuated meaning to understimulating messages
In her dreams, she's metal, making sense and touching mystery.
Kiss-story and history can make believe a ministry
Who can decide for us, take a plane or catch a bus,
Call a friend,
Complain,
Hang up.
In her dreams she's giving up,

Making out and groaning
While the outdated concept of a factory becomes the modern definition of a relationship, a

childhood (encased in it), a mutiny (the candle lit), a jealousy (of those who quit), a pedancy (to
bite and lick), dependency -
On love,
On being the one you're thinking of
(when you forget how to think, it won't matter who was on your mind)
( it won't matter how you bent yourself, bent time)
(I observe from heights astoundingly high... )
( observe the depths of shit, the human pig sty)

I mean to say, when your independent registry of memories gets taken as collateral, all the
history of damages, miscarriages, abandonage, a bandage is,
A temporary fix to a problem we can't
Kick or kiss or kid
Ourselves into not seeing.
Wish ourselves into a slower being,
A horse or bull who lives outside
Who cannot count, or read, or lie
Whose life will end at 22,
But that's not tragic,
It's just true.

Who will one day become a martyr,
A robin hood,
A vengeance-starter,

Whose grave will be shot up with flowers
As an expression of respect,
Inspected masculinity, collected
As a visor to protect
The female face as it rejects
Any attempt at solidarity,
She knows a lie when it beats her
With its charity.

I happen to be watching, so I offer her a seat.

Everclear or something, neat
Cereal mixed with bloody meat
Excrement rotting in the heat

Children learning to love each other

Children learning to breathe, while their mothers develop bad knees
Children learning to read, while their mothers are switching to speed
Children eating their greens, while their mother gets raped by their father
Children taught to believe in foreign aid and peanut butter.

Geography reminds us that the earth is round,
Geology can tell us the components of the ground,
A dance routine explains how to visualize a sound.
Victimize and doubt, sodomize and shout, sexualize, vanity,
How can I get rid of me?

Pretty and vanished, impoverished woman,
Kiss your own shoulders,
Grow your own human!

Light your own candle and pen your obituary
Maybe I'm dramatic, but I've been made that way by history.
The daily bitch resuscitates each morning on command
She flicks on her switch and licks her master's hand.

And me? You can't get rid of me.

I am the Angel of Reality.