Fanny Kaplan Shot

   Lenin and I’m in this pit, destitute of light,
  desperate. Arson is a lilac
perfume, suck in the arsenic flame, next door the neighbors
  are drunk fighting
 about drunk drinking fighting and the status of women
in society, ‘Fuck, Jean. You ain’t my mama, you’re
my woman,’ the gates of hell
  roaring like power, rat poison
makes you swim faster and faster, and I don’t care
 how a person ought to be, blood thinning,
  I care how a person
      should live.

Deep Ecology

Police brutality makes me want to starve
       myself to death and loneliness
        is a drag. Grapes
and pomegranates do not grow
  here anymore and we don’t
 understand finance capital since we are all
plaintiffs and you can’t live up to the fantasy
     of myself I’ve laid on the table
               for you. So why praise
the elaborate song patterns of the comatose lyric
         or walk in the morgue of
                   conceptual poetry, ID the body,
       What’s up, Daddy? When the plants
                 are sparkling with that glorious, toxic glow,
                         chilly, fancy, fluttering, vines
       and nosy dolphins are interfering with commerce
             and the waterline but happily
     they splash in the hot, fancy Gulf of trash.
Their pods so unfree; poison me.


Photograph © Internet Archive Book Images