It's 2am here and I'm fucking tabled
down in a supermarket bathroom inside of
pomegranate seeds when they explode in
my mouth and on the wall and I'm watching
this girl dance on the faucet here in this
bathroom, trance-dancing trance inducing
gaze, throwing down while karma
inserts inserts itself into coma,
Jamaica and Roma,
walking through the suburbs,
they're not exactly lovers, duplicate and then
you wait for the next Kuwait, pomegranate seeds
exploding Sufi swirling scifi throats to the ground
of divine truth, the supermarket categorization
dis-proven by the law that everything
is god.

To all the nude beaches we're too poor to visit,
to all the African children dying today I'll never see,
to the trees that will eventually sprout from this city
avenue, to the fire in your heart that never fully extinguishes
until you're dead yourself, to all the Victorian castles
we will never actually live in, to the loaded words
help and poverty and save, to donors and exacerbations,
to pot and beer and heavy intoxication,
I wish the world never knew about our disgusting habits
of survival.

Liver liters pitch tents in Patagonia--
it's where I buy my patio furn-
iture. These liver liters also deliver
legal talismans like UCC Section
1-308, and if you give us a dollar
a day, comes to 30 a month Patagonia
don't wait. Patagonia don't wait,
neither do the children, the children
that inherit the future that we're fighting
for, the concrete blocks I be walking
toward Patagonia, the sistas and brothas
who be struggling for themselves and family,
the lovers and the fighters living in peace temporarily
before picking up again to meet the frequency
of life in these busy freakin' streets--
Help us reach our Patagonia tonight,
Patagonia's the goal and we're helping
some children, put plainly, money's
the key and goal to survive.

Now now now, 77 million children are not receiving
some form of education, they're
cut out of circulation, education--
some call it regurgitation--
means more money made in their lifetime,
means less children in their lifetime,
means children they do have will be twice as
likely to gain an education too.

Here's what you can do to help!

SAVE THE CHILDREN loves
lion dens where Wallstreeters
prowl up and down the wet walk,
SAVE THE CHILDREN loves
liar pitchperfect mutualists, but all
I am is a parasite.

All I've ever been is a goddamn
parasite.

Everybody loves Bob Marley,
everywhere I go it's the same old story,
people of all nation, they love the rasta-
man vibration--today is saturday and the sponge
looks out his street-view in Brooklyn, but
the sea is large and vast like the city may or may
not be, nineteen and dreamin' real goals be
fluctuating but keeping my head in the
face of sour patch kids, they
say we're dreamers but we're not the only ones,
feel the spirit alive in the town and the city,
mood is only delivered by chemists
and alchemists who push Pb
into Au, dopa-mine into receptors,
blood into body.

And yet the past still feels like the present
even here, I can't run from it. Lainee
lives homeward but here I lay
wayward and the current's sweeping me up
if I let it.

Fire Inside of Skyscrapers

There's a new evolutionary
paradigm shift!

It's not something you hear
about on Television!

No!

It's real! Real like your mother's
mashed potatoes, this new paradigm
shift is predicted to take effect in our
lifetime, in our world, with the tools
we have for our use today, this new
paradigm shift I might take the liberty
of calling Homo Eros, equal love for
man and womankind!
It's not something you'd hear about in the New
York Times! That's because we

are Homo Eros! And we're here to
build love inside of competition, empathy
inside of greed, fire inside of sky-
skyscrapers, morality inside of
kapital, and most importantly, us
inside of struggle.

Poverty in Eastchester

The train rattles on by as I sit
in the green New York suburb
of Eastchester, Westchester
county. There's a golf club behind
me, trees, miles of grass interspersed
with homes and a neighborhood full
of old money, upper middle class type
old money, money made in the city
doin' the dirty, sparkling Audis hover
in the driveway.

Let me speak for a minute about
poverty. Poverty's different
for everyone, but almost everyone
feels it.

Let's talk ramen noodle poor. Let's talk
tap water poor; no television no internet no
gas no telephone don't even know what
day it is poor.

It's beautiful here in Eastchester, West-
chester county, crickets noising up
the woods to the tracks on my right,
to the south, while I lie here thinking
about how I'm here using old money
to combat itself. Haha! I'm an

evil genius.