Saturday 15 August 2009

drumming around me simply found me....right when i was needing to be found

i am at a motel with two boys and a girl,
watching Rush and other subculture kinds of fare
with our collective hitchcock blank stare.

i throw in an episode of the Shield , for which we deeply care.
then attempt to crash after a long week of work. but its friday so energy is thick, with air. infecting our aura, thora-lee !
(like some retroviral anti-scare).

i could not see it in my friend Laura, all hella jazzed and dressed up for the city...
looking rather pretty
(from my bi-op perspective).
in her dress she made herself
at the collective.

her heart in there
threaded to a seam, hours in a chair.

with the imperfections
homemade anything
has meaning

[not like heartless clothes
made in rows
by factory workers]

she softens
in tubs
her linens
by toes

in countries where the wages suck
down and out a cheap production
the corporate vibe is 'make a buck'
profit margins grow and grow
with no deduction

the ceo writes checks
for blow
imported himself
out of Mexico

declares all visits
'factory business'
courtesy of Nafta

[when interrogated over a table, and asked about said visits
they hold a bag of powdery substance, he asks them 'What is it??']

Laura shes on point for real
I watch her...
so far ahead of us!
Her style homemade
so non-impact
like sex
in backseat

the leather expands
after it contracts

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