Thursday, November 20, 2008

Everyone of These Wind Machines: A depiction of 20th century USA history

(revised version)
Producing products like fertilizer. My harsh back now poisoned. My bags not educated. No chance for pulling so wood on wood on living mouth.
(will my money curl the hat? or will
it become a farm and then a box?)

They wrote something like a Jesus sound
and then grapes
and now skeleton posters, eyes-posters,
boss-posters, such forming of an eagle
that thinks in years.

Hot dirty hot dirty hot dirty hot dirty hot dirty
hot dirty hot dirty hot dirty hot dirty hot dirty

being "impudent"
when you start to sign or button. When you say you won't live in this area. When you union, when clap, when beyond, all letters now. . .
you see. . .?

Now lampposts respond
Can I suggest someone in pinstripes
says "to cause not to cut"

Marching played like accordions. All
the acrylic
all the lining up
Now the names of four young womyn
this is not an exit
this is not an exit
this is not an exit

So on a Fall day I moved to Chicago
and put pressure on doors and spoke
with all body parts. I think like a
strike but a strike with soft wheels
and water.
Thought needed bark.
Thought needed moving.
They are going to stop selling your
image through glass windows.

July calls late and loves
the hiring of green and purple.
(This helps makes better organizers.)

W/little to no thought of
repercussion, I purchase sun
I prosper.
I love the world and
build houses and on weekends
I talk about presidents.

In the context of words, I see
bricks. Say there is a N and
instead of making fewer we make
an O. Sounds are not restrictions
unless in pipes-
rather than "they made dying
a shade," but a new "wanting
to", a general use of positive
this comes to new flip-charts.

A head with curls and behind
glasses looks to the border
and sees commas.

(I knew her
no, not such a strange
a self, a strange
place I knew her
not in self I knew).

Something came in a wave
as to be a sonnet.
Again we might imagine
something that is being
"acted upon,"
a transition now to
the service sector and a long
stemmed rose.

So for your dead, your
desk still standing,
your asking of who
(one drowns while
the other is used).
He is so common and
pillar like.
His penis- a salt shaker.
So dearly a love lays
upon the table while
the speaker revises
and comes to being of under.

*Inspired by Claude McKay's "Harlem Dancer"


Mo said...


this is amazing

rodney k said...

I like this too, Lacey. More!

You left a nice comment about the Portland reading on my blog; I hit
'Publish'; it disappeared. Sorry bout that, and for apologizing via comment box--couldn't find an email addy. Glad you were there.

Nada said...

O I like this poem.

Tara Rose said...

Holy holy hot hot thang!

You've done gone and inspired me!

I am workin on Alma's paper, but now I've written this little something... cuz you got my juices flowin...

Types of color through seamless interactions
Bought color with mind, time, and perception
Slept still
Waiting for the next moment of your voice
Woke halfhearted (a body rebelling)
In gray light
It is not a not caring
Bought black
The density of color
Threw in light
Let it leak
The intensity of your calm
It is sending flowers through your sound
Something again
Again a slip of your sleep
In an open incision
My waking
It is relieved

Methinks I am in a "Steinian" mood. Thanks girrrrl.

Lacey Hunter said...

TARA!! Get yourself an actual blog so we can all see your work! I dig the piece you wrote here.

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