On Hate and Desire

I hate kittens

I hate kittens

Those sneaky shitty flirts. Please

subject me no more to adore

filth and ignorance.

I hate mothers

Self-righteous and absorbed nerve-worlds,

psychopaths! Please, No more children’s birthday parties!

I hate their perfectly chubby offspring

Made vultures - Yes,

I hate all children, the spoiled stinky sieves of deceit.

I hate boys, desperately cool, whether measured in loudness or in silence.

I hate girls, bitter princess magicians of Evel

I hate men and women alike

I despise arrogance.

Everyone makes their place, at different volumes, desperately

They write their names, The cats pee on the sofa.

But there are laws of civility.

What is capitalism’s greatest crime?

Dogs are too needy.  Poultry is too vulnerable. Cars are expensive. Music is lazy.

Painting repeats itself. But that is not the bad news,  after all.

Power and possessions wield power and possessions. Nothing is nothing.

The crime is the future that was promised

The past is not much consolation, alas.

Let’s watch Kung Fu Panda and Andrei Rublev

Let’s go to Siena, I’ll practice violin. Let’s read Lucretius.

After four days on the cold, I swear, thought I might never be

Myself again

Seething, consuming, and  scheming

And thinking what a beautifully porous and lavish piece to post:

I hate fathers and husbands and sons and lovers

Who in the evidence of this apocalypse, do not move

To surrender and all, because

Love is

letting go.

II.

Of course I never did. And

Fuck the weather. You obese psychotic mother

In the winter we live in the wet, In summer we live in the dry

Mud moves then hardens and cracks.  She must be kidding!

I can fit my finger in.

Fuck the snow, what a lousy lover, fuck rivers, helpless and clumsy

Victims, bed-wetters, with premature landside syndrome, hair-pullers and slobs

I hate this rain, the incessant insult to civility

To electricity and to roads, to fields and bridges

It is so shitty out! And where the fuck are you when the garden and forests burn up?

You whore, rain! You are the boss’s treacherous wife, smothering then absent

As if this is a game, one a lost vegan now Las vegas, or some jerkoff winery in California,

You know wounds cannot heal in this swamp

You know plants cannot grow

Oh and fuck farming, fuck my soil

I would even fuck this glass of wine, if it said “piece of ass” on it.

Or if it were full, ..now that’s a conundrum.

III.

I do not hate fire when it collaborates.

I do not hate dawn in winter nor dusk in summer.

I have consumed three portions of white wine from a smurf/nutella glass

And I smoked one joint and two cigarettes since

I remembered, obscenely, tragically, indimenticabile

A young woman’s ass

which I did cross the street to avoid-- before she knew I’d seen it, and

just after being transformed, moved, and schooled in the meaning of

desire.

Like a miniature icon of what destroys men, or

a detailed map of the farthest and most forbidden treasure.

Like a banner for all the desperate citizens

to celebrate. Two equal states of suspended perfection

in black, in high definition, surreal,

this land, this island, a latent perfume, a blonde breath.

A rare and joyous thing is youth

Let it be a reminder

That beauty is in the hands of the innocent

And should NOT be in my hands

lest I devour it.