THE MACHINE (while listening to Steve Reich’s Music for 18 Musicians in 2012)

The sleepy machine
passes slowly over us,
a simple god,
warming the sun’s reflection
into a gentle taste.

I get lost in its generosity
and begin walking Underground.
Underground is a purple place
where the statues fall.
I only come here
when I think of the same thing too long.

The statues today
talked about climbing
the Founding River.
It was a bad idea
but the sun was still
in my mouth, and I went on.

It was square and straight.
The end was a window
where I saw the machine
dance lazily,
eclipsing the sun.

THE EXPLODING WHALE (while listening to Death Grips’s Exmilitary in 2012)

I got it by its tongue
under the waves, under
the goddamn empty plate moon
and the seals are coming in
the blood the water my face
flopping fish are Bateman’s whores in my whale apartment
and it’s too much but it’s my tongue
and we’re going up to scream at the air filled with planes
and drop into the flesh water.

Whale’s crying and there’s more seals
I eat their stomachs
full of fish in my groaning whale mouth
the ringing so strong
my head is a sun with bitter light
giving ugly orgasms
to all the planets.

I can’t take the giving
and the beach is near
we scrape up it and I
come out
like Caligula leaving his bedroom
and the whale explodes
thumping against the earth
and falling angrily into the waves.

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL DAY (while listening to Poème électronique by Edgard Varèse in 2012)

faces in the floor
ask for iron filings,
that’s all.

need not clam, mussel
nor a barnacle,
need them like a
stomach baby prays to Ganesh
and steals Industrial kid coal.

why so soft in their all-groan
does she feed? they all groan
more. ideas cravely not
only that iron throat
and they grow more floor

she fucked them

grainy deer thought this
how does their physiology
how does it

there,
the brown sky.