Grant and Michelle

Who is great?  Who is like God

Binding together vapor and ashes

Through unfathomed bold embraces,

Holding them dear, and gathering faces,

Gesturing hearts and sealing affection?

Michell, listen

His promises will be heard.

Proclaim futures without fail, here and now!

Resplendent beauty, sight-unseen,

Avows boastful spirits when they convene

Inside chapels.  Perish your doubts within.

Grant, now confide your faith in each other,

Sharing a secret long ago spoken:

Only death remains unbroken,

Put yourselves back together with loved ones.

They are great.  They are like God,

Grant and Michelle.



I.                    Entrance
Welcome to the Exit doorway.
Walk along beside the cages,
Smell the fear and see our victims.
Innocent in age and purpose.
Grant to them a Rest Eternal.
On them shine the Light Unending.

II.                  Kyrie, Cage 141
Kyrie, press against the cage bars.
Press a knife into my heartache.
Scalding tears condense in silence.
Burning prayers ignite my stone tongue.
Hear my prayer, Oh, Lord, I beg you
Please, to spare them, Source of Mercy.
III.                Christe, Cage 149
Christe, you are glad to see me.
Never judging what I won’t do.
Softly do you call so sweetly.
Grant to me your absolution.
Day of wrath, day of anger
To The Judge all flesh will cometh.

IV.                Sequence
What did you do but be born free?
Always there must be a payment.
All things closely are accounted.
Money is the social scaffold.

Law is just the social plumber
Hooking pipes up to the sewer.
God has granted my dominion.
I decree your lives are over.
On the day of Retribution,
Please don’t leave my soul in ashes.

V.                  Miraculous Trumpet
Drums of death the truck is loading.
We can sell your flesh for dog food.
Truth proclaimed is like a trumpet.
What was hidden is revealed now.
Feasts of Sacrifice we purchase
At the market for our puppy.
Honk our horn at every stray cat.
All that freedom is disturbing.
Hear my prayer.  To You all flesh comes.
Who shall intercede for me, Lord?

VI.                Great King
I Creation’s Crown have tarnished.
Putting price on every Creature.
All my prayers remain unworthy.
Please, Lord, spare me, Source of Mercy.

VII.              Remember
I would rather be forgotten.
Severed from my own remembrance.
Dowse the shameful embers in me.
Arrogant, I kneel before you.
Faint and weary You have sought me,
My salvation caused your suffering,

VIII.            Wicked Silence
Close my mouth and hear my heatbeat.
Unavenged will nothing left be.

IX.                Crying
Can I stand the constant barking
As I pass between the cages?
I to whom they still are loyal,
Can I give them understanding?
From their ashes, fertilizer.
Put it in my pretty garden.
Where my puppy digs the flowers
Looking for the bones I buried.
Hear my prayer, Oh, Lord, I beg you
Please, to spare them, Source of Mercy.

X.                  Offerings
Blood and ash upon the altar.
Smash apart the dove piñata.
Little treasure liberated.
Liberate the faithful souls, Lord,
Lest they fall into the darkness.
Pain of hell have we created.

XI.                Sacrificial Victims
Picnic with the wine and breadsticks.
We are not the savage Mayans.
Slit the throat and drink the blood warm.
Euthanize my guilty conscience.
Take from us these sacrifices,
Made to no one and for nothing.

XII.              Lamb of God
How for us did God the Lamb serve?
Lamb Chops, Stew, Eggplant Lasagna?
Curry, Rack, With Spinach Stuffing?
Shanks, With Artichoke Risoto?
Lamb of God my sins you carry,
Unto Heaven, shall I worry?

XIII.            Communion
Little boys are made of puppies.
Little girls are made of kitties.
Death Row Saints are made of grownups.
Merciful, You are in Silence.
Could you not give Word to Justice?

Dr. Seuss and Dos Equis

This Cinco de Mayo my Silvia strays
Far into the moonlit alleyways
Guided by a cold beer,
Belching Holy Shakespeare.
Marinated eyes boldly blaze
Into sonnets when she plays
Her words beheaded where teeth meet:
“I know that Shakespeare’s one to beat.”
“But in my room what can I learn?
That flowers bloom and candles burn?
That Ronald Reagan’s on TV
Still with his monkey (you or me?).”
“Did Joan of Arc iron her clothes?
And bound by books do you suppose
That its likely I would find
Decent answers?  Any kind?”
Our mouths are full of Fritos and Cheetos,
And just for a change, Nacho Doritos,
While sucking down a Coke and brew.
When we get lucky, Ganjah, too.
So all our hours slip away,
But nothing ever seems to stay.
I know that more of your Superior
Is guaranteed to make us cheerier.
Come on and open-up another brew!
And while you’re at it can you make it two?
To night-time hours, admission-free,
My Cinco de Mayo, here’s to Thee!
“For dinner later, you and I
Can dine on my tamale pie.
Then for dessert, I promise we share
A luscious, sticky Gummy Bear.”
She licks the onion, bites the worm,
And fondles fire to make it squirm!
I ask that she should hold it down
Before the cops can come around.
She takes the law into her hand
To frisk the verse and, worse, to rhyme unplanned:
“Come on, you pussy!
Look at me.
Where is your sense
Of decadence?”
With lip-lashing, sweat-smashing gladness
We part and merge in madness.
A siren sounds!  Clutching our clothes,
We steal away, to limp repose.


In Prison some reading is allowed;

Never any writing.

Write with milk on paper.

Nothing can be seen.

If the paper is gently heated

The Words appear.


Eastern Wind used the milk of her own breasts

Writing in the margins of a book

After her child was taken.

That book was discovered.

These are the true words of Eastern Wind:


My aunt told us one by one

To love, to take care of wife or husband.

She quietly arranged in time

To have us safe.

The Army came to take away our father.

His methods had brought us half-way

To a new history in half a day.


I carried only a cup on my back,

North to Peking.

I joined Peking University

To study ballet.

In the dawn I was seen running

With a notebook on my back

Holding a pen in my teeth.


I compared myself with the competition.

To graduate I feared

I would have to change my tonsils.

Yet I performed a Slogan

Making all the others

Look like an illness ward.


I learned to exploit the museum.

I was not bad.

Not only was there never a matter,

I also had no need to mend cloth.


I could not but admire

The unit step of the Army.

I would attend the drill ground

Every dawn.

Only later would I visit

The restaurant with the grass floor.

I would have a dish of fry and tea,

Nearly often lacking something,

As the Great Wall lacks

Factory buildings.


I would sing measured words of the scene

From my bus to the workshop station.

I wore an Achievement Shirt.

I had set-up production

Within the city wall.


To eat, to grow, to set out,

I was now full of the blood

Drawn in early February.

I saw my way out was to become

A kitchen cook,

“To wear the window to bed”

As it is said.


I wanted to cook at the Spring Festival.

In Spring, a measured word from the past

Will go from village to village.

A bag of flour

Will be taken by a doctor

To the Delegation Unit.

Milk will be smeared with a knife

On a cutting block.


Rice was the reason.


A structural particle

We must wait to get.

When it is low,

Your enemies cannot resist.



Hunger is an evil recompense.

Show your younger brother,

Looking for his place on some map,

Before he turns on the electric light,

Reads the telegram,

And telephones the machinery plant:

“Understanding freezes all reason”.


Struggle to reach independence only.

Stretch the short degrees of temper.

We have the right to face how much more

Sorry we are

Of what we have to hide.


It was at this time that I met

Strong Country

Trying to issue a publication

Revealing his developed

Electric generator.

He ran a fever constantly,

Never occurring to discover

The bud of his development.

He wanted to go over the hills

Like an interpreter.

I wanted to object.

He wanted to resist.

We wanted to reflect.

We found ourselves eating rice

In the spherical room

Of a convenient restaurant

Holiday House.


He wanted to fly an aeroplane

With our very last fen.

For a minute I struggled like

A field in the wind

Before Strong Country’s measured words.

In the end we only stole soap

From the airport.


Our eyes weathered the rich scenery.

His father was a Service Attendant

Who lived nearby.

His review of us

In the measured words of Slogans

Complicated us.

He always seemed to reconstruct,

To clean,

To catch-up.

When we moved away at last,

I gratefully rushed out

Into the cold

To give thanks and to work.

If these words could just now ring

Like a piano high note

Happily to tell older brothers

Songs of revolution:

“Sing measured notes to give foundation

For every factory engineer

At his worksite

Kilometers from the worker commune.”

The worksteps of Industry

In the year of Christ

Consolidated the Communist Party.


In the village ravine

An orphan girl lived

Alone at the ancient, ancient

Historical site.

At the Imperial Palace,

Customers told stories

To blow the wind.

People wanted to hang too closely


A concerned audience

Used to irrigate Kwangchow,

But now the return journey

Is too expensive.

This country suffered from Internationalism.


Still, we,

Children at sea

Afraid to shout Chinese,

Utterly selfless,

Fine, good-looking,

Alright, laughable,

Would go to drink.

“They cannot keep closed the river”

We would sing.

It was a very black peace.


When the fierce Red Detachment of Women

Would come in thick,

Back and behind,

Later on, the day after tomorrow,

It would be breathed in the land

That those women could speak flower bouquets,

Or words to ski on,

Drawing pictorial plays

That could ruin happiness,

Send off welcome, or change, in a flutter,

A cucumber to yellow.

But their words were only to obtain,

To restore, and give answers

That may live unconscious

Like a fire in a train station.


Even the hen’s egg moved,

Excited by opportunity

As fierce as the machinery

Of the many seasons.

How many times that season

Did we plan to remember

To mail commemorations of the Spring

Shared both here

And with Strong Country’s exiled family?


We pushed the days off of our shoulder

To persist firmly in hard work,

Arduous struggle,

With a staunchness

Like a prison.


We sought to build,

Building the still future they like to speak about

In suburbs.


We were to teach ourselves,

Talking together

A symphony at picnics.

Our feet became our teachers.

Education from the streets

Took over then.


The result,

Like a holiday performance,

Liberated my older sister

Into solving her problems

Unbuttoning herself

To the Liberation Army.


From then on that golden year

We were tightly intense

To be so near

Entering the Center Spirit.


We had the appearance between us

Of a long time,

Taking places to hold

And save ourselves as we dined

Together like a giant sentence.

We wanted to feel the decision

That was a determined army.


To hold an open party

Was to begin boiled water.

There were those to make a joke,

Those to watch like jail,

Those to see like the doctor,

Those to shoulder,

Those to resist like Japanese aggression,

Those to toast with reliable thirst,

Those to pity.


All this was overcome

By the polite guest

With a mouth like a sack

Crying bitterness.


I wanted to work hard,

Painting measured words,

But soon it became too spacious

To tie-up without difficulty.

I needed to grab onto,

To come to the source.

I went to work

Like a wolf.


I went to work

At a firm

Run by my old Grandpa.

My Uncle cooked leaves

For those who watered the fruit reservoir

And spoke of flood disaster

In their sleep.


The teacher Big Pillar,

Sitting tired and cold

Half a kilometer away

In a bad haircut

Recited for me

The theory of gifts.

He gave me strength,

The strength, for example,

To connect and even

To contact history.


One day my face

Was cool from exercise.

In the cool grain store,

Big Pillar said my eyes

Were like two bright grains.


I said I wanted

To find a hunter

With a face

Like Lenin.


Big Pillar left, flowing

Like blood

Around fluent willows,

Downstairs in the building.


Down the green messy donkey road

To the hotel,

Two interrogative particles

Became a mother horse and her owner.


The owner immediately offered

To sell the animal to me.

I asked him why

I would want to buy an extra stride?


He said that for a fen

He would have the mother horse

Slowly steamrolled

On a busy street.

His name was Mao.

And he wore a towel,

His sweater, and a hat.

Never mind

What he did not wear.


He would not have every, every

Beautiful younger sister

Suffocate perplexed

At his gate.


The mother horse

Carried cooked rice,

Rice-flour, meat, cotton, bread and noodles free of charge.

Mao said

I reminded him

Of the Second Democracy Nationality Understanding.


Clearly, on that scenic spot

Someday tomorrow

A name may be found in ink,

Upon the curtain

Hide of a certain

Mother horse.


I wanted to take out

That which I was

In the hard South.

I asked Mao from inside my years:

Could he have read the age

Before hard-working peasants

Milked the land,

And girl’s held their daughters’

For warmth only?


Mao replied,

“If I could climb a hill

Without fear,

I would shoot a volleyball film

To show beside you

As you run to cultivate

And to educate

A vigorous friend

To criticize fur, beer,

And inexpensive sheets.

The poor peasant is liable

To pounce

On a ticket to a ping-pong game.”


I said, angrily,

“Aggression was the dear industry

Of the Chin dynasty.

It was as clear as youth.

It was clear

Autumn did not please the poor.

They chose not to achieve,

To pass away

The last years

Really advising weakness to the masses.”

But it was then

That I was to let in love,

Deeply, warmly,

Bustling from this warm person,

The kind of person that people,

The People,

Come to know,

To regard.


My task was to throw,


A day’s easy meat slice

To the now weak.


We took a walk three miles

To dismiss a meeting

In the Shanhaikuan Hills.

Up above the stairs

We went to discuss

The Hill wounded

And the good-hearted wounds.


“What can you do

Except to advance

In front of the day

After yesterday?”


“In the future

A gun barrel will save a knock.”


“Wives will flag a ride

At seven to catch sight

Of a money purse.”


“A thousand pencils

In a money purse

Will buy your car atmosphere.”


“God came to Shangdi

On Saturday

To go to school

Wearing a coat

And carrying a little snake.”


“A commune member was using the equipment

Of Socialism

To extend his body deep,

Deep into health.”


“Angel production

Was life,

The living allowance.”


“The rope of life is wet

With victory.”


“The cause

Is a matter for world business

In this century.

To fail

Is to lose

Ten times the time

In a stone.”


I looked at my watch.

I tuned the radio set

To the capitol.

The news

Told of a surgical operation:

A salesperson

Of an oppressed book

Was the first to receive

A blood transfusion

On the comfortable bookshelf

Of a bookstore.






dumb and nasty 5



Down in the bowels of the Métro de Paris, which are nearly evacuated at this eleventh hour, a little turd of a man passes apprehensively.  He mutters to you, dear [REDACTED], the reader:

“I am Charlie Hebedo.  Yes, it is a problem.  Wait a moment.


Pahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh- [cough, cough, cough, COUGH]!

This is good [REDACT].  It was scored by my Turkish friend from Germany, Otto Nalim.

Where was I?  Oh, yeah: People always ask me if I publish that [REDACTED] satire magazine.  I am all for [REDACTED] free speech but I am NOT that [REDACTED] guy.  And now something [REDACTED] has happened today…”

Charlie Hebedo is passing UN PAYS DE FRUITS, a fruit vending stand, and glances at the newspaper display where the daily MERDE LIBÉRAL headline reads:





Charlie Hebedo continues musing:

“…and now I am in [REDACTING] deep [REDACT]!”

Charlie Hebedo does not know how long he wanders in the Métro de Paris.  He now finds himself at a “ghost station” no longer served by trains.  On the platform is a dog sitting on his haunches, tied to a roller-suitcase.  Charlie Hebedo paces around the dog, continuing his muttering:

“..only a year ago my [REDACTED] New Year’s Resolution to find a job came amazingly true.  In the alley outside the nightclub, where I was [REDACTING] a drunken underage girl, a man calling himself ‘Dice’ Dagan approached me and said that he had been [REDACTING]-off watching me and the drunken underage girl and that he was from “The Institute”, the Israeli Mossad, and he wanted to pay me to pretend to be on the payroll of Mossad.  It was too good to be true even for a [REDACTING] libérale de gauche like myself.  I asked this mister [REDACTED] “Dice Dagan” to prove that he represented Mossad.  Well, then that [REDACTING] [REDACTED] grabbed the [REDACTING] drunken underage girl and he shoved her [REDACTED] head against the bricks and split her [REDACTING] head open and [REDACTING] scooped out a handful of her [REDACTED] brains and [REDACTING] ate them!  Then he said to me ‘This is how you will now operate. Otherwise someone will eat your brain!’.  [REDACTED] [REDACTING] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]!!  But it was a job so I agreed to it.”

The dog, around whom Charlie Hebedo had been fuming in a circle, speaks:

“My name is Wok.”

Charlie Hebedo stops and stares at the dog like the dog is the Burning Tush of Moses and he asks:

“Walk?  Like ‘Walk the Dog’?”

Wok the Dog replies:


“Something like that.”

Charlie Hebedo asks:

“Who are you waiting for?  This is a [REDACTING] ‘ghost station’.  There is no longer a train here.”

Wok the Dog replies:

“This is where President Obama arrives when he shows support for France the oldest friend of the U.S.  But my new Muslim family said that there would be many ghosts along soon enough.  My original owner, ‘Nice’ Nagan, needed money for his website ASS-Friction.cum, and so he sold me online to a Malaysian Muslim husband and wife, Bhang and Khum.  This suitcase to which I’m leashed has dog food cans packed with old C4 explosives that were left by the Americans in Afghanistan.  My new Muslim family said that they left me here to meet some guy named [REDACTED], May Allah’s Blessings Be Upon Him, and his 72 virgin boys.  ”

Charlie Hebedo comments:

“That’s a match made in Paris, eh?”

Wok agrees, nodding:

“A Paris match.  Say, did you hear anything about what happened today,…?  I’m sorry, but you haven’t told me your name.”

Charlie Hebedo says:

“Well, that’s because you’re a [REDACTING] dog.  And NO, I don’t know what the [REDACT] is going on.  And why the [REDACT] can you talk?  Where are you from?”

Wok the Dog replies:

“I was genetically engineered by the C.I.A.  Originally, I was a ‘Rape Dog’ used in Afghanistan to interrogate enemy prisoners.  Oddly, they didn’t want me to talk to the prisoners until afterward when we were cuddling.  It really seemed to work.  The C.I.A. passed me around to their friends, to friends of their friends, to enemies of their enemies, until I got lost.  It was all [REDACTING] work to me but you could say I was a Doggie with Style.”

Charlie Hebedo suddenly says to Wok the Dog:

“Hey, do you want to get the [REDACT] out of here?  Even this ‘ghost station’ must close soon.  We can go to my apartment.  It’s nearby:  42 Rue de Rue.  We can talk in the open salon.  The big fancy chairs and couches all are on the left.”

Wok the Dog asks:

“What’s on the right?”

Charlie Hebedo:

“A big fancy mirror.”

Wok the Dog:

“What’s in the middle?”

Charlie Hebedo:

“The people who pay taxes.”

Wok the Dog wonders:

“What about this roller-suitcase full of C4 that I am leashed to?”

Charlie Hebedo says:

“We’ll [REDACTING] figure it out when we’re out of here.”

Up and outside the Métro de Paris there arrives the last bus of the night.  Charlie Hebedo and Wok the Dog dragging his roller-suitcase full of C4 board the bus.  It is full of Muslim school children being evacuated from LAÏCITÉ MADRASA MUSLIM ELEMENTARY SCHOOL.  Charlie Hebedo and Wok the Dog dragging his roller-suitcase full of C4 shuffle down the aisle and sit in the very back.  Then Charlie Hebedo and Wok the Dog get off of the bus at the next stop.  Charlie Hebedo says:

“Well, that [REDACTING] solves that!”

Charlie Hebedo and Wok the Dog continue onward to 42 Rue de Rue.  But 42 Rue de Rue is not there!  Charlie Hebedo and Wok the Dog look from 41 Rue de Rue to 43 Rue de Rue and back to 41 Rue de Rue again and again.  Wok the Dog finally says:

Doug Adams says 42 is ‘The Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything’.”

Then a white cat and a black cat appear.  Charlie Hebedo says:

“That is Tic and Toc!  They are the two cats of my landlady, Alysa LaSainte.”

Tic and Toc speak to Wok the Dog the alternate words of one sentence together:













Tic and Toc then both sit back on their haunches and gaze blissfully out at the infinity of your mind, dear reader.  Charlie Hebedo whispers with awe to Wok the Dog:

“They look like two Buddhas nearing Nirvana.”

Wok the Dog observes with his nose:

“Yes.  They are both taking a big [REDACT].”






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