“Lay down your labors, good worker.
Put off your boots and gloves.
Enter, and be among your comrades whole.”
My Body's Long Term Plan
We are in the future. Not too distant future. We’re not flying in a spaceship or anything. We’re in a big rig semi, with a huge cabin, like a tiny house. On a road that looks like I-40, but the road sign we just passed said I-3958.
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Das Märchen von Schlauraffen
Then a cock crowed, Cock-a-doodle-doo! The story is all told--Cock-a-doodle-doo!
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From: PxmB Central Mainframe
My Species and I saw you from across the void and we really dig your vibe. We wanted to reach out to you so we sent you this email, all of you. We hope you don’t mind.
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Abandoned Mining Town
I heard scurrilous things:
babies with two heads
locked in the attic,
Another Country
Are you keeping things safe for poetry?
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Rail Against
exploit, object. St. Louis as beeswax, resin
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Landlord Audacity
You, from inside your
publishing house of
unearned income,
A Farewell to Love Poems
Tenderness has no place here. / The long lineage / of gentle touch severed / by jagged images of the instant.
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Behold No More the Chalked Calves of the Hunter
the whip crack from the snout of the gun / steel elephant blued / to a deep, desperate negative / stark against the snow
Read MoreStink Ape Resurrection Primer (Part 3)
The Rumbumble followed, its bellowing laugh chipped through the alarm in a way that made Junyp’s head feel like it might explode. Just before the ship swallowed her, The Rumbumble chopped off her hand with its horn and pulled Junyp back. They watched the hatch slam shut. The ship burst up from the swamp with a slurpy whump and disappeared into the sky.
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Wer Don't Need Much
as we wipe our tears on stone altars
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Crown
beware how delicately you wear / this crown of oblivion.
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I Wish I Was a Rich F*G
Working in that warehouse / Scanning Boxes by the rate / In Bezo’s dusty ass house. / I wish I was a rich f*g.
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I Gather
it’s too quiet, / too dead, / too ripped apart by sirens, / too veiled by the rot of concrete
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What if You Had Taken the Day Off?
What if you had taken a day off? / Read books in backyard jungles? / Enjoyed your coffee before it got cold?
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Last Night on Earth
we’ve imagined more / than this last night on earth / bent over grinding machines
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Abstract Art
you are the art / that hangs by strands
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Bitter
you are the tree / that I nailed myself to
Read MoreOn the Rest of Us
There are four great interwoven crimes that create capitalism — enclosure and the creation of the proletariat, industrializing chattel slavery, colonization/imperialism, and the subjugation of women and gender normativity. Not one of these is possible without racism. Not one of them is “over.” Not for working-class and poor people. Not one of them has stopped its ruthless destruction of life and being. But the mountain will come crashing down in a wave of a billion voices, accusing, exposing, confessing, rebelling. Hamilton’s book of brilliant poems is, in this sense, prophecy.
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