Put this confession in your sensitive files. Here’s some
kindling for the schizophrenics. The new sick sleepless
ex-patriot congress is living sub sub sub-domestic. If
sanctuary still exists, its among the shaking fists,
seeking out a living free of the postures of politics.
Plant a paintbomb in the market. Sing it to the
whispering bats. Beneath the poison traffic, caught up in
the wires. Echolocation. Call your targets out by name.
Spraycans and stencils, moonrats and flowerpot snakes.
Reconstructive scavengers, termite sympathizers, all sick
and sleepless, caught up in the wires.
