After two years I have returned to the scene of the crime.
lo! a damn examiner
with a coil fixed around its
major bosses sporting
I’m going to be sick
when I see them moving
in relief against the light
I don’t want to work
here no more
a promising lad dreams
of the dung gang
in Lad City
all lines lead to crime
every object drapes over an acronym
expanding to fold in every evil intention
and all diamonds rust to blood diamonds
in sleep, a motive goes rolling
over cars and fixtures
all things standing wrecked by morning
a tremendous crime against the sun
blots out the main objects of sight
a kid with bright red pincers
might go far in this town
goes the conventional wisdom
when the people lift their flaps up
and scratch around the ditches for snacks
when he said he was born
with a snake for all teeth
he wasn’t lying.
and like all snake-tooth babes
he drew milk from treachery.
and like any milk-tot might,
smashed his bros against stone
to elicit blood juice and reaction.
pursuant, automatic sovereignty.
when he flosses,
the whole city goes hiss
nothing in this page a metaphor
but all of it in code