by David Meltzer

Pops Staples
picks Jenny up
& holds her in his arms
at the Troubador
she’s 2 years old
unsprung gold hair coils
round pink cheeks
he’s Roebuck Staples
patriarch of the Staples Singers
& he rocks her in his arms

by David Meltzer

Ah, ego
wants everything
all the time
& spaces
silence or blank
page lays splayed
apart for whatever words
pass as art’s moment
despite words’ deep
inability to work

by Andy Clausen

The newly opened sky is full of albatrosses & pigeons
they’re letting loose what they’ve used up
Because others can’t see the fire on three sides
doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist
The captains of ownership
love the politics of scarcity
makes for cheap labor
They want the masses, the ones Jesus loved
and Buddha wakened, leaden eyed, ovine
voting against themselves
killing each other
pitted against each other for the sake
of something called the economy which
over the years I’ve come to see is a device
to devalue labor and separate money from the physical
to make it metaphysical
to ascribe it to something marginally useful like gold
or destructive like weapons
They’ll violently disagree on religion culture territory
but they all agree to honor money

I’m not holding my breath for there’s a mighty judgment coming
How much of this body is me?
Am I nothing more than a desire propelled
Through the ages?  But by what?  Another desire?
The all powerful desireless desire?
Some Tathagata?
Those are just words
Is this my body and how can it be mine
if it is finite?
How can anything live if I die?

I asked what comes after post modern?

Will nothing ever be modern again?
I am the future as long as I live
After me, everything will be old

Old Bill
Old bills
Old Mike
Old Hannah
Old grey mare
Old hat
Old Shep

Old boy
Old gal;
Everything & body will be old
Old garbage
Old man
Old lady
Old gold
Old days