Casey Anthony

Mother who killed her baby
In the blue light
I am on to you

Every night I watch you on the internet
Blue light of the electrical screen on your face
Blue light of the night on your face

You took your baby to the river
And dunked her head
In the waters of infinity

Even when a mother brings life
To the world
It is not hers to take
Back
It is not hers to take back

Poem I like from The Little Red Hen by Larry Fagin

I am the little red hen
I work my ass off
For all the poets

And what do I get?
A pat on the butt
When the sun goes down

Argument again Religion

There is no such thing as skin. --Bhanu Kapil

In any argument for religion, there is an argument against it
Poo poo magic
Get the way out of my house
Simultaneity, the conscious regard
Of a thousand men
All traipsing through history
And murder
With its infinite forms
That rolls the skulls of time to my feet
I will argue against religion, not God
I will argue against magic, but not God
Not God, God is pragmatic, is practical
God is practical worth, a sacred act
A sacred act of sex that we engage in
A wet and various act of sex
In songs against it
Against the coming of the dawn, which
Will blind us out, white light
To bind us out of ourselves
Still even in ourselves
We do not know the thing we make
Still even in this poem, I do not know the thing I make
Still even in my heart, love, I do not know the thing I make
Against religion, against the mystical
Against the mystical crazy world
That has got me nothing, I rise
Write numbers in my rising
Make numbers every little thing they can be
Still, hear hear
This poem is about numbers
This poem is numbers
These words are numbers
Your spirit is numbers
My spit is numbers, my blood is numbers
My bones are numbers
My breath is numbers, my death is numbers
My skin is numbers
I slough it off, it is numbers that I slough off
Into the sky
And they go floating by
Forgetting me
Oh that they forget me
I find them so glorious
To forget me
Even as it was I
Who once gave them so much care

Rose Vallord

For the dreamers in my Gaming and Literacy meeting, 12/11/08

Rose Vallord
Remembered the artwork
Of a million Jews
Which had been stolen
Thom says to write about her
The red sun rises everyday
The blue moon
The children rise everyday
One day I will adopt a
Hundred children who have no mother
Still, narrative, no, is only, not only
A primary act of mind
The skeleton of need
Of every child in the universe
The children that rise
Into the morning in the universe
Have not been killed
By the indifference of a million men
But by the difference
Of a million men
To stretch into the sun
And become
A lifelong thing
Building an infinite of future
Of need, no, not need
But our need
To know what they know
And for them to know
What we have yet to know
And to know what we don’t need
Now
But need in the future
What the world will need
Infinite need into an infinite spectrum
Saving the artwork of a million
Infinite Jews to make
The infinite artwork of an
Infinite universe
To breed infinity
Upon ourselves, a thousand loaves
From one loaf
A million bodies from
One body
An infinite sun
From one sun
An infinite moon
From one moon