Do not tell your parents.
The degree of injury
will determine your grade.
The first test is endurance
of internal bleeding.
We will learn about limits
of a human organ.
The degree of injury
will determine your grade.
There are many words for love
in the blood's dialect.We will learn about limits
of a human organ.
No whistleblowing, children.
Use your indoor scream, please.
There are many words for love
in the blood's dialect.
Let's look at the speech center,
see how it loves the wires.
No whistleblowing, children.
Use your indoor scream, please.
Thinking is a bad circuit;
that is why we break it.
Let's look at the speech center,
see how it loves the wires.
You've been using them all wrong,
powering devices.
Thinking is a bad circuit;
that is why we break it.
Make the body electric,
a human prison chair.
You've been using them all wrong,
powering devices.
Don't trust the city streetlight
for illumination.
Make the body electric,
a human prison chair.
This new test is resistance
in the sponge of your brain.
Don't trust the city streetlight
for illumination.
Trust in a union of wires
to stimulate muscles.
This new test is resistance
in the sponge of your brain.
In the dialect of sweat,
- Location:United States, Washington, Mountlake Terrace
- Mood:
creative - Music:Throwing Muses ML
Please remove your hand, and keep it to yourself.
You can't assign me to your ménagerie.
Don't dialect my mouth, I have my own tongue.
Dear ventriloquist, you are not my wheelchair.
Stop presuming that you know better how to
organize my muscles than I am able.
You're just using me for a crutch, anyway.
Dear ventriloquist, please don't leave your soapbox
in the middle of the sidewalk for me to
trip over on my way to work. I broke my
toe last time, and you're lucky I didn't sue.
Dear ventriloquist, I'm not a poster boy,
so stop headlining me in your old gray lies.
I've seen how your coalitions are powered;
your hands are dirty from handling those fossils.
Dear ventriloquist, I am not a pack mule
for your manufactured solidarity.
I am not a cardboard cut-out talisman
for you to passion play into court rulings.
Dear ventriloquist, I'm paid ten bucks an hour,
selling the most ancient modern sacrament,
to help my people to reach the promised sale-
don't sneer! We are too holy to be reduced.
Dear ventriloquist, we are not unconscious;
we are ignoring you while we're on the phone,
deciding our own political discourse.
Don't mock! We will always be too pure for you.
Dear ventriloquist, you only urge us to
question our "assumptions" when it's you writing
the questions, but we know bullshit when we smell
it, and here we are, a nation of callers.
Dear ventriloquist, I can see your lips move,
while us bourgeois pass you by to want, buy, have.
Copyright © 2011 Bruce V. Bracken
Ten Top Trivia Tips about Fossefox!
- Banging your head against Fossefox uses 150 calories an hour.
- In the Spanish edition of Cluedo, Fossefox is the victim!
- The word 'samba' means 'to rub Fossefox'.
- Fossefox can be very poisonous if injected intravenously.
- Fossefox was first grown in America by the grandmother Maria Ann Smith, from whom her name comes!
- Fossefox will give a higher yield if milked when listening to music!
- The first domain name ever registered was Fossefox.com.
- Reindeer like to eat Fossefox.
- The deepest part of Fossefox is over 35,000 feet deep.
- While performing her duties as queen, Cleopatra sometimes dressed up as Fossefox!
I'll worship your poverty, and you can worship
my concern, 'cause we feel your pain,
like a Bangkok rent boy, we and all the
rent-seeking starfuckers who yellow sheets,
then wear themlike patrician robes,
re-classifying them as journalism and truth.
I am your god, but call me donkey truck.
Run after me, clamor for my stash of loot.
See if I stop before you stumble in worship.
I'll stick my head out the window, so I can
tell you who to blame for your empty lot.
I'll worship your degradation, and you'll worship
my promise of a golden goose in every pot,
and a non-stop/non-start urban green pan.
I am your god, but call me donkey truck.
- Location:seattle
- Mood: creative
She said don't play that album anymore, so I switched to digital.
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.
Sorry about accidentally posting my poem to the communities that have nothing to do with poetry, or the form I was using.
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.
Sew it up - you're dragging your dress again.
Cinch it up - it's falling apart in the wrong places.
Draw it up - make your intentions plain.
Dry it up - martyrs have no production values.
Tear it up- they could never hold you to it.
Soak it up - you're a paper tiger now.
Live it up - somebody will buy it.
Shake it up - it's anybody's paradigm for the next 15 minutes.
Talk it up - TelePrompTers are cheap.
Lift it up - it's walking too fast for you to stand.
Even it up - it's too precious for them to keep.
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.
Are we gone today?
Are we going to pay
with our pocket lint,
artificial mint?
What's your capital plan?
Pull it out at the end,
during your smooth stint,
artificial mint?
Put a face to it
all camera-lit
We're buying free rent
for artificial mint.
Only have to print
stretch it til it fits
Tape, ink, reddish tint
artificial mint.
Rubber-stamp, it's magic x4
Throw a class war fit
struggle against wit
scabs will pay for it,
artificial mint
You can organise,
but you can't disguise
chants are not magic,
artificial mint
what's written on your signs
the tired paradigm
of a soviet
Artificial mint
when it crashes, you're bailed
Cuz you're too big to jail
what will make you quit
artificial mint
Rubber-stamp, it's magic x4
Copyright 2011 Bruce V. Bracken
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.
CHÉ CONFESSES
If they had only spoken of you in holier tones, but there was no sanctity in their inflections,
no blank stares, no empty eyes.
I never thought I'd pull the trigger
on an old man, but when his knees would not bend, I had to bend them for him. Old men are stubborn,
but the flesh complies, the blood obeys.
The young, they are easier to deal with; take a child, make him close his eyes, fill his hands with sweets,
and tell him who gave so generously.
Pups are so eager to please their masters.
It was a hectic year, everyone was issued a torn
parachute, on purpose, and there was no time to
think, only time to jump out of the plummeting wreck
that Bautista had made of our ship of state.
You don't know how it disgusted me to see these bourgeois clutching at their now worthless notes and crosses, like a Negro clutching for a needle and opiates,
which is why I made sure to bind and gag them before I put bullets in their brains! It was quite a productive day at the prison!
If they had only spoken with the gratitude of a starving child, I would have retaught them everything, these bitter clingers, these banana farmers,
these tobacco farmers, thinking they could own
things, when they could only be owned, these rope makers, killing themselves with the butt of my gun!
Copyright 2011 Bruce V. Bracken
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.
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brucevbracken- exaspéré, exaspéré!
- Bruce V. Bracken, Poet
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