Tuesday, January 10, 2012

an excerpt of 'Strikethrough' by Brad Hamers

cop canister to the head
cry me an aluminum funnel
oil me a sharp but slippery sentence
stop me before ‘demands’
crop me out at the creamery
grab as many free condiment packets as you can
police beanbags to the head
the media was (a) hit (late) bruised and changing color
smoke makes the best protest
the medics form a line
at the grapevine all the way back from the telegraph
arms stiff from holding up out-dated math (and symbol)
rubber bullet to the head
runner full of what he said
(the vine) pulled a capsaicin on a starting gun
(we’re)bummed down to standing up
no-vote first through the bottom line
really, put my socks on my hand ?
okay the river wants to vote for the damn, half the creek only makes noise because it won’t give in, where clinton lands capital letter first through the support beams, like lobbyists ain’t sunlight, (and microsoft word can really read the bible) or both sides ain’t the same coin,
red line under my name, pig blanket over my head, cry me an oil drill,
both baskets are in it to make money,
kiss me a wallet, show me receipts
one flash grenade to the chest
two words away from a sound
a thousand steps back
and another country later
molotov breadbasket to a cop
every tear to my head
this puddle of rips
forms a pond
and swamps
every ipad afire
tear gas canister to the head
be dead on a bright light, the vacuum on a camera
attract all the moth you can,
until you lose your clothes
then farm
a hundred riot police later, when we become immune to pepper spray
some white-shirt scarecrow still hold their perch
as if they wasn’t just props
as if thanksgiving weren’t only dinner
i ate 3 states and a southern half of another
threw up like a parachute over Cayuse territory
landed like scotch tape on a rip in the dollar
thrown off the Blue Mountains
white flag first
red and black after that
linguistically independent
no one understood
understand my face to the ground

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