The time was 3:36 pm.
One could see the sun.
The season was spring.
The temperature was 54°F.
It was not raining.
Colleen Lopez Battery Fiasco
Joe Luna
a story in nine stanzas
One step forward, two steps back
Make bigness hope continue good lives only fending
for the sake of mere life in consensus to it, rank posture
rings of militant disavowal that blood in some villains
on the take is final, designates an outside wired shut
For masses any all for targets fit for massacre, a scaly bite
mark around the lower-lip, a section. This hide kept
an easy liquid jaw on tap in figment as a claim to smallest
magnitude, just like the moon. At the end of one line in
Reality a certain moral eclecticism kicks in, for kids in
transit live within what we mean, denigrated fortune for
the difference in milligrams between a dog’s tongue
and the rest of them, each dog’s tongue captcha’d on
The scale of death by tragedy. All the normal people
holding hands say something courtesied up to the hilt
of cheap exception, tally-ho! Love it, so good. All agree:
not to lesson is a failure the indigenous combat protozoa
Does an accent, all of space in sympathy gets even bigger.
Have you seen it? A kind of halftone misery slip fob
bed off the lowest common ostracised exhale gets in
the way, for anyone really, the view is creased in direct
mitigation of a thing’s smoke on TV with the sound
Except the amplitude to threaten me with, bootless in
paragon for turbo. For the shrill taste of civilisation
these civilised people, they’ll eat each other, canvas
bags for plenty, advertise the in-store shakes so each cell
Blackened by their own discrete insensate application
shuts up shop, more tender. Each of them should be in
side the other. By tomorrow night the victim gets all
fuzzy, some violet apathy arraigns the telling middle
Distance for a statement of allegiance pure and simple,
for example, maybe there are maybe three or four people
in the world, maybe less. The edition eschews a unifying
theme with turpitude, then repugnance, then reprieve,
But it will always open in the mouth of someone real.
Scooped out cover packs and lobbied for them, sluggish
as the fashion room beats up the red in January do
note the typical proximity of gentleness and violence
to be repeated evermore as bread lines running over
No-one’s greyed-out incident supply frame, the famished
zeros black register kept shtum. What good is sabotage
except in practice, the armoury detracting from every
shell that slowly in a moment proves it, that your blood
Is not made of gold and ours not made of water, how
ever clean, the sole mean average denominates fantastic
fallings off for gratitude, the extra-special intermediate
anterior design. Squeeze an eyelid out like chocolate
From a blunt dispenser. We pump that spectra too hard
to like it, want catastrophe in spades, say life the puppet
sock and snidely trots out the current faction for a unity
of abandoned and impossible demands. The battery
Begins to hue and cry, and the picture cuts to static.
Clouds leak carefully across the afternoon. One object
looks to seed opinion and gets jealous globally. Another
flowers in the middle sky remotely there, both roaring
louder than the sea or weather. Good encryption follows
Suit with knowledge of it, where they are in hell, and how
so needed. Sample evidence includes light, happiness,
affect and productivity, sometime’s there’s a breather
starving outer systems of quick, bright things on guard in
Columns of fabricated ones and minus ones and wishes
on display their colour print-outs and keen to newly peg
the proffered heads of the community. A layer of snow
upset him bashfully not having fears, not having anything
To fear but consent gets siphoned off into the genial tone
reserved for, and predicated on, subjects fit to listen,
to receive as if from nowhere the platitudes of where we
are. Disgust can only last for so long. Look at the planet,
Puts off enucleated space like a marble in a dog’s socket.
Tables turn and things get back to normal, apprised of
recent envoys and actings out. You stick your lip out
in synchronicity and scan for lizards. Instead you get a
catalogue that adapts to each investiture point blankly
By pairing up whatever’s left in plural. Nouns feed them
selves to each other. What happens next is cake for solitaire
and trinkets, the night and scene of every citizen parades
into a calculated batch of counterfeit and sugary contempt,
It is so sweet, it is the eighties, you’re free to cry, when
really it’s the nineties and we’re doomed, that’s what
and that’s the meaning of fertility, hard and moist and
moaning what the human can be through a pickled grin
That trumps the ruddy cheek effect by more patterns laid
down at the base. Chins become the medium of resolve.
By twos bound in principle to clean slates and suckers,
mortified in both directions for offence screened first
For casualties. Your left, alive and kicking, your dessert.
In tantric exhibitionist decay take marching orders writ
for taller justice to scupper the indicative as if by magic
attains a level of violent theatricality quite unsurpassed
in the poetry of all previous revolutions, X-Pac shoots
The Montreal Screwjob and the fans lap breaks down
anyway, the dreary dream sequestered dockets over heart
felt bygones for the future. That position amongst the
others shines: it remains important to feel like people,
To feel like tidally at least that gift is always on the run,
always between two fingers, as a prank is to a hidden
gut reaction. The trend continues to inspire interaction
dialogue in which a flag is seen, aching to combust you,
In a chamber strewn with errant cables and obsolescent
versions of the state. How blood boils can jockey for
prescription, cress and resin bandaids back things up
nicely for an instant, the same one that, fit for execution
Seminars, will terrify in equal measure what they do.
Each internal movement is visibly disloyal because life
gets that much wider for reflection, have some discipline
but pray for dignity crashed out on the public beach
that cares. Resigned in some measure to the total comp
Lex of allusion, cramp and distracted allegory that got
us here, the mute eternal captains all pitch in avowedly
to keep an actual magnet in the world afloat and weeping
copious words themselves. If you re-arrange everything
It still makes no sense either way, their dumb generality
can swamp the capital quicker than a declaration of
identity would hold its own, all that drains by lunchtime
and the island light declines a picture of its own tear
Here solidarity, all the way through town secreted com
passes that do go, almost dancing, into something else
that can’t be bayonetted. Keep a lid on decoupled
conscious cymbals if you want to. The opening closed
Up sometime after midnight and was heard for miles.
Glass licked in is not delicious. Then I cast a spell,
mercury in retrograde, gilt and the increasingly young
charm them full of bones and slaughter, full of juice.
One whole hostage set, set down beside the online tree
Of life as fruited offers, truly innovates the one apartheid
chancery, presuming to imagine a different world is like
the work out cut selectively beside you when it’s finished,
barking at the silos in the sun. There is no middle ground
At present, moonlight dogs the invalid like a signature fits
by thirds and fifths or grated crosswise into the silent
ethic shed that calmly saves. Seagulls divebomb fanfares
attacking Rome, the principalities and harbours career
Out of pocket back for mutual external dyads making
good. Say something that vocabulary’s smaller than, I
dare you, the producer looks overdone for leaders at the
queue front who smell salty profits chucked overboard
For social life rolled out rolled into one. Put your’s on.
Dolphins emit immediate applause at each and every
exit pursued by diligent élan to buffer zone fiasco,
for each life the insensible loan for love only in a lucky
dip replaced by gnashing. Distributing grain evenly
Across the earth wherever we go sounds good to me,
give me the part of you that isn’t theirs yet and let me
keep it. Far out celestial reminders make complaint
stand to attention, beg miraculous election that finally
Does not emerge as something human. In any case
I’m over it, lent the spirit dentures fuss and tantrum
to see things the way the world does focally, purchase
on these jumper cables up in flames. Nothing changes
Nothing in the first place. In a huge, well-ventilated
sports arena, skin sells good for topic lost to prohibition
of your basic instinct for survival in the face of danger.
You watch on sympathetically the tragic scene, a thou
Sand people getting up to do the non-comply dance.