Signs of the Times

 

Look, I'm a Libra, you say
when I am most Piscean, pissing
you off.
We walk. Make a date. Promise
not to argue

about what, I don't know.
You insist on fundamental accuracy
while the decay of language
is my subject

not the flow of bodies free as capital
the supersedence of the nation-state
our nightmare of democracy.
Globalization

is a dirty word only because
its misuse is pus on those tongues
lapping the minted sluts.

The information
superhighway is the opiate
of the masses who dream of
finding love while the means of production
are seized in foreclosure.

I only want to
move and shake you
sexually.
I look cool when I knock but

churn while waiting for your answer.
I breathe again from a brief kiss
behind the door you close behind me.

There are spies, you fear, in our com-
pounded institution of
higher learning. Even with armed guards
I swim anywhere in our
pond much too
small, you say, for satire.

Yes, I
piss off the people
who love me and
the people who don't
say I'm an expatriate racist.
So little
of our planet
is land ­ let me
swim and sleep
with you without ideology.

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