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la mordida / unto mexicano

9/12/2014

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LA PELONA / SNAKE LADY / CIHUACOATL

 

con banda: “great womb & tomb of all life”

            you’re not right for me snake lady

                        well you aint kickin my ass either

I dig the ravens & the eagles & the sea gulls

                        I’m into cosmic twins / mostly otters

me uttering udders / staring at those twins of yrs

                        me spreading black jelly on yr crackers

see you flushed rose toilet bowls I heard / I heard

                        I got fucking coral snakes for eyes man look at my fucking eyes man

            yeah & that / & I’m all funneled serpentine gyre

                        you elaborate symbols all too much man

            been listening to too much Grandmaster Melle Mel

                        yr eyes look red / yr left eye drooping

            yeah I got the droop syndrome as a matter of speaking

                        really writing

            really writing

                        can’t believe you follow Bukowski

            broken glass everywhere / people pissing on the street you know they just don’t

                        mailman / holes in face / ripping pages from philosophs

            care / rats in the front room / roaches in the back / people pissing / no / junk

                        & he probably never stopped to wipe his ass / never stopped boozing

you’re friend will arrive you fucking bowler speaking of junk

            bowl like  a snake / you fool

                        let me pass

            my cigarette / I set it in wax now it don’t smoke

                        watch yr hands

            I’m sucking like a motherfucker for a fucking hit

                        wash yr hands

            hear that raven

                        yr heart smacking like a motherfucker

            sniffing yr red headed goodness

                        special goodness motherfucker

            Brooklyn train still waiting

                        AKlaska night still raining

            think think

                         Brooklyn train still finding

            we’re surrounded by the green folks in this bar here & we didn’t even know

              Quetzalcoatl

 wants to go out still

            my head fucking aches

life forced to pass us / trying to try us / trying to type us

            yr goddamned tattoo running into new

            you goddamned limey running slimy fingers

                        only visited sold cigarettes no filters still eating foodstamps in my cart not mine printing t-shirts mostly white life driving listening to these piercing spears of whistles biting into my brain / my fucking brain / y’all yelling further still / cigarette burned into wax / imagine that / imagine base contagious clouds ripping from soul y mar / reflections from water tan more

                        where wind’s warmbreath

            there can be no smell of flesh in furnace

                        formed their castes solid like James Dean Plato sd / wrote / whatever trying to

hide here: yeah a tunnel

mirrors in the leaves / imagine her lashes daggers stabbed rumors branching like fingers imagine

these reserved coils stretching toward her snakes

old people rough to convince of a solid world smacking fresh wind into youthful faces but even Ginsburg got old & Burroughs too / & wild writing spreads like ashes smeared w/ a sponge then wiped clean again for rewipe ¿why write?  serpent eyes / coiled self symbol borrowed still from Yeats / turn like an urn Keats / ravens & eagles & totem poles wrapping one into the other & other still together /

            junk still filling empty vessel still pressing further into snakes for eyes

never a problem before

            never cared serpentine

never cared / coiled

            never stopped to think really think serpentine

never thought never a problem before

            but really / ¿why write? coiled

never to stop & really think never a problem before ravens big as jets

            lost lots between the head & hand

sure you do

            get that

you shd

            dig

a tunnel through the ocean chrome

            dig that chrome

some

            find

something there

            shadow

sparks

the killing dark not nearly as what yr face seems to stink transcribed

mitigate me it

burns faster than we predicted mother of Samuel Sister Revolution

revenging still the renege

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    Chaley Chastitellez

    Annals of Aztec demigods, Chican@s more Dedalusians in slouches, Quetzalcoatls in jumpsuits.

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