leadership in the future

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when we strip away the 

money and then comes the

futures that have been promised, the gas fueled

space chasers and the electronic

elevators.  When we subdue romance, we

bury dead bodies with

the living and feed green 

trees to the fire.  when we strip away

our clothes for a moment, we can see that

we have become stronger, but that

strength isn’t only for the naked.  we must lose the

past as well, the hair and the 

medicine.  we will be only eyes

and tongues, speaking and seeing

words being formed. 

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the two men and their hobbies

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as soon as the steel 

disappeared into the man made

lake the house atop the

hill filled with a new song. it was jazz and the

owner of the home was

taken by the sound of

the drums on this record.  the killer ran into

the night, he dived without 

thought of what was underneath

the surface or how deep the

water went. 

math reaches the point of noiselessness

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in a quiet meadow, where a 

german doctor has

forgotten who is mother is

and how his father 

passed away,

there is a voice of a teen

he tells a young woman

that she is beautiful to

exponential powers.  the hun

wraps his hands around a steel blade of

reassurance and walks toward his

future.  the valley is too close to the

water, the lake is old, but

full of fauna.  time is but a number

that has gotten too high.

where is it? what did she say?

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angels talked about the loneliest

times in their journeys.  one was

near tears.  she said that it

wasn’t one moment, but 

instead

they were many, like when she rambled about

at the base of a mountain where

 it rained often and

the buildings were

remade every few hundred

years.  ‘It was shocking and

no one told me that

i would cry with the destruction of

each edifice.  why didn’t anyone come

to comfort me? i was 

rescuing souls from the dead, but

it was only the birds that

could rise up. i was drinking

lemonade and waiting for whisky.  where was

the wine?  where were the wings of 

everyone else??’

the legend of chicho

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he doesn’t want to, but

he takes a gun and runs

towards the flames that

are the size of mountains.  his lungs

are given poisoned air, the kind that

makes a man

fall down and go to

sleep for days, decades even.  he doesn’t

fall, he finds the

cup of youth and throws its

insides on the fire. smoke fills

the cosmos, the end of time comes

to the valley.

space in the chest ft. maternity

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You say that you know him, but 

you don’t know what he wants from

us.  we have been out here, at the edge

of the village for 

so long, probing the

coffee fields for 

the sight of 

distant moons.  we know that

he asks us for light, but

its been night for years and

we asked for

darkness, but we

didn’t know that it would be

so cold out here.  we pretend to 

enjoy snow on red rose

pedals, but life is too short

for photographs.

with lace no one can hear you dream

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if you could cure the world

of all its diseases and spread

the soul of lysol,

would you know when it was finished? 

there are women at the gates

of heaven, with orange hair and

peach skin, they spin with grass skirts and

blue hair.  your skin comes into contact with

the limits of

living and you turn over again, because

you’ve forgotten to come from your

bedside table.

to touch the cold and then warned by flame

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at the apex of winter, you’ve forgotten your

coat by the door.  the woman in

blue takes quick small

steps out of your reach until

your feet ae bleeding.  you try to explain

to her about the war in spain, how it

is being won by fascists, but she is

immune from your screams.  you

ignore the calls for hot cider and

wool scarves.  each flake in your

eyes burns you, but Catyluna still

burns and the blue figure in the near distance

moves to the far distant, at

the cusp of the horizon.

babylon carved coffee tables

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touching a university library, where

learning is

tactile and books are written on

the sides of buildings, you scrape your

hands across the stones.  they were written

four hundred years ago.  they’ve been transcribed

with stained glass, far right

meanderings, a grand view

of stars and suns.  Light is knowledge.  matter

is rigidity.  words matter,

truth builds our structures.