There are so many fucking…that


believe in the decimals of their mental calculators-> see: batteries included

renegades of sloth necrotic reality TV and Christ righteous housemother spun homes…

but our compassion worthy Person(s)

are neighbor’s kids, a hand stuck to the elevator OPEN button, a jobless uncle’s holiday toast & grandma alive in pictures


while people, without much  concern or question, kill eachother in droves

                 eyes closed, rapid fire

with plenty of causes… for God and for Satan

and Love and Truth and Justice

and Sex and Fame and


and Cellphones and Uploads and

Broadband and Bandwidth and Maximum Strength and

for This one and That one and Now.



lock their cars twice in three door garages, fingerprint encoded and vaccuum sealed

before they close the door…

they read papers and watch newscasts and ignore their wives until its time fuck,

                then they put the secratary’s head on her face

they cannot separate church and/or state

                their hearts from minds or ass from elbows

they think their cup is“their” cup,  not yours

               ours and the rest of us who don’t worship the almighty dollar

they lease condos and cars and abandon “their”

               kids alone any chance they get

they have.

they need.

they take.

they want you to masturbate yourselves to sleep drowning in dreams of cash rebates and free trial offers.



they are strong, and innumerable people, but

be a Person. You must.

they want me to stop writing, singing and stop You dancing

smoking and drinking to every Summer time sweetheart

blossoming down Ashland Avenue.

Make the skirts last forever,

beautiful, caressing upwards along lines of nuclear sidewalks

and keep Your pyramid eye pointed

 towards spirit angels and Apollo’s love, especially

in these, Our days,

children of a waste land rust belt,

studio apartment trapped w0rld movers,

charcoaled miners of love and smiles and tears…


Let the Person



and ever



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