i dreamt of a thousand sparkling fish
swimming upstream

put another way: curls on her shoulder
make a case for the end of america; i don't
want to be american; even the beehives
are political;

for sustained breath, a certain
kind of mania is required.

we wish to become red lacquer without knowing that most of all
we wish to become.

we wage war against
the mundane; my authentic self is the part
of me that feels evilly good when i see
my enemies gallop down the path of
authentic expression, like it means something,
always reaffirming
meaning making while not realizing
the process | is the process | is becoming;

don't wish to become red lacquer, we
wish to become. get your sneakers of irony
out of my eyeholes, get the ideology of the
body mind separation out of the highway

there are people working here. i don't see
people | i just see floating mists which bring
me divine inspiration, like ok! come
again when you hear wood from the trees and
not your own godlessness. after weeks

of decadence, bland
food is relief. the fish continue to upstream.
a thousand sparkling fish will not turn one
by one, but all at once.