Michael L. Anderson

All Blues

in the future they'll do squalor like a fashion
put it on, take it off
good
like a found forgotten twenty

look in the eye of the trumpet man
hateful man, I heard: beat his women, a real jerk

who repudiated everything white

walking footsteps slow on concrete
jarring knee joints

the benedictory film settles on forehead

eyes forward

not a Jericho sound, no dogs grinning
but a reminder

ain't gonna change course

* * *

Subjective Truth

missiles loosed converging on a point of animus
singing the Horst Wessel Song--how it warms the heart !

     ripping, hissing reaction

     orders from the top

fins praying the living air, redeye blinkless

adjusting attitudes in realtime for the other

     Yes, me too !

     Where do I sign ?!?

everybody's doing a brand new dance now

when the clear tip of the front sign post
is halfway up & centered in the rear aperture...

the oriflamme falls & is retrieved by one
tumescent full & not the saurian grimace of her tribe

     looking around

     What do I do with this ?

of seamless fabrication, drawing fire

hemmed round with no conclusion


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