We scale towers
We enter tunnels
We cross rivers.
We call home.
We massage the cold ground
With the friction
Of our hot spinning wheels
Obey, obey
Okay
With giant rat like tails
We whip our muses into shape
Not easily
We bend like a brick of wire coat hangers
We
Carefully place our Nuts in a cup
And take flight
Like a doll on fire
We soar and
burn like a hurricane of acid
We spatter in the faces of children
And leave marks
We lay the grounds for
Something like a love style
But it’s not cool
it’s warm
when it’s cool it’s over
When it’s cool it’s dead
Let’s kill the cool
Nothing cool can stay
Let’s resurrect the warm
Not the burn
But the warm
Warm like bread and fat and oil
Oil that smooths and runs deep
It keeps things rolling and moving and digestible
We are the oil in the engine
That burns in the lantern
We keep things from sticking
We help the salad
Go down
(This poem was originally recited at Palisades on October 13, 2014 in Brooklyn, NY)
Schwervon! 