Strung Out

Creamsicles – vanilla – beneath cotton
                        candy parade as
                        chatter scatters in the
                        back
                        ears swelling
                        eyes scratching
                        wings dipping
                        teeth chawing some
                                 slippery cinnamon
                        we drifting home,
                        heron gliding
                                                                 this bright day.


The longshort trek to South Cross

                        is
                         finished.


                                                Obrigado!

Barra Shopping

For favor, open my doors to
                 Malltown!
       Price me! Scan me! Liquidate! Obligate!

With license, mill about
       Smell a test, swipe a card
       Slurp some moats of coco.

We want it. All of it.
       get
       get
       get
       get
       get.       It.

And the babbling avenues don't mind.
       Only feetshouts rise above the din.

                            sit a bit
                            quaff some matte
                            gorge on weight plates.

Then shop again. 
        I want one of them
                            day-glo pink redeemers!

Shit Head

OK. Rio was not poetic.

        Now, silvergold filigree slide beneath
        cities, hamlets scattered cross
                  Brazil's night
         starpoints swim the ink.

                            *

Pulmonary artery got ruptured here.
      Got me all dressed in my best
              Idiot suit – fitted.
              Sewn into my skin
              stitched in nerve threads
              zipped my throat
              zipper teeth chewing my eyelids.

              The dumb shit can't rub off,
                     It's stained straight through
                           my pores, stapled into
                           my brainstem.

Not trickles. Amazons of excrement
       jostle my bloodstreets
       clogging like a honking belching
                      18-lane jam.
       smearing every tongue-slip
       infiltrating every do-plan
       suffocating every borrowed sky-gulp.

The toilet of my mind
       swimming floating swirling
                         overflowing
       liquid stench drenching
                          all my half-ass.

So, I trudged loathing
        head bent
        niggling.
        hopelost.
        snuffed.

And all the wheres I went
         still reek of me.

Wen Jia Bao

(at Rio+20)

I wish to express warm congratulations
   we are heartened
   on the other hand,
                                       gap widens
                                       acute.

Preserving is the only choice
      especially common but different
                       developed should honour

      no green uniforms
                     make their own choices
                     models for green products
                     refrain from
                                                 protectionism.

Without limiting development.

Zhongguo yue fada
                  bangzhu qihou bienhua.


xiexie!

Throng Clouds

(Rio+20)

Sequins, silks, suits, synthetics
Clothes of all flags.
             Voices of all tongues.

                                  "Solutions must go beyond"
                                  Intensely discussing
                                  consensus

              "Need to get the economy back on track"

                                  Major groups at the core
                                  so involved at this Rio.


Draft document charts the path
Sure we will all make the best decisions.
Realize important commitments.

                                   Progress achieved
waters of March mark the end

                                   ...of Summer.

We need action on a scale that matches
       the magnitude of the crisis.
             Inexorable historical


                                    trend.

Over the Grange

(35000 ft over Brazil)

Breakfast parade just tootled by

          the waftings of roasted

                                   toasted

                                                         allure.

          and without,

                 green and brown crop circles

                 stud the earth, sparkling

                 waters bejewel:

                             t'is a BRIGHT MORN!

                 (even with the blind down to mere crack,

                  the sun explodes from my pen's silver tip.)

Now rumpled parapets splay

         twixt emerald farm rows

         patch piece in forty thousand shades of

         green. And an ocher dusting of erosion.

It's a vast landscape, 

         but manprinted.

Now, a village with pink streets.

Now, a spindly lake bending through 27 narrow channels.

Now, a fire hazing fuzzy white across the dawn.

Now, a mud river snakes past porcelain

             settling ponds of a hilltop mine.

River Journey

Eye hooks   nag us as
           dimly roars the craft
    Fingers. Ears. Fidget. Nod off.

           whiling,
           we knit wool webs
           grasp hoping

                silver slivers
                splinters
                digging, teeth first
                biting trenches
                brimming in sluggish
                   slurry froth green grey
                   moats slopped fullof

                endless

                      moreget.


     How? Now renounce it?