The
landscape of ovary ripoff seclusions
bombarded
into gangs, inclusions for life,
secrecy the
manhood between their legs as
the
overpopulated rats turned into mice:
above them
in Las Vegas condominiums
oriental jet lag & lost
dimensions
turned the rat-race Americans into
Secrets
beyond control.
Gangs had
only the dare, the cop-out, the chicken
to avoid
being square as they sniffed
and drew
their designs of hate calligraphy
down through
the halls of City Hell,
ever
downward the road shot up through their arms
as the girls
learned too, to scar women.
No different were
the Halls of Royal Hill
in the non-hell plaything
of Whitman's lost America
high up in corporate supposed
innocence
behind closed doors in taxicabs
first-class diamonds touching
forest fall out
to afford
any kinky thing you wished
build your
mansion number two above
the hearing
of the can-toters &
graffiti
worshippers--
the ovarian
landscape sinking
into a
poison of itself
the City of Security
dumping,
madly, anything, protected by buddies on
the City
Council
down the
drain,
and blaming
the housewife's bad water
on her
infrequent chlorine.
Linked from Las Vegas, New York,
Chicago
linked in arms from L.A. Hong Kong
linked
Tokyo & Philadelphia linked
Bonn, Carthage, the Middle East.
Icons of power
in a downplay of history, the men
with fat ties have no
moral disgust
and the Christians are wheedling
ninnies.
The gangs
are all that is left of moieties
secrets in
the shared dark
tattooed
upside-down crosses
covered by
handshakes:
there is no
economic
belonging down here as
the mirror
image up there of
the beheaded
saints of tomorrow
the
corporate lesions of world hate
teaches
security in the classroom
the gangs
circling the schools
for victims.
One wrong
look, one step beyond
the rivaling
suffering black men
and factions
rule the world more
possibilities
of different packs
breaches of
contract, rivaling
rivalries,
as
the poor get
more
of
themselves only,
the only
heroes the billionaire
football
players, the sports facade
of corporate
bustling.
How do I get out
join, join,
but not a union
when you
have no work and
your buddies
pull you down spread
disunion all
around
billions
more in one
world planet
can't
escape the
ground
and twice as many
splinter
groups
bend hate
out of the tough
facade that
is family
non-planning.
You can't be
too tough
to die.
To die is
the why
for your buddies
while above
you live in
lawyer's arms,
a paid
jostling out of prison
in mansion
number three
your numbers
are populating
as the rich
get more
of the poor,
and the last
plan is after
all female
earth parts
are beyond
recall
to stamp out
the inner city:
exterminate
the warring poor,
concentrate
them to work
building
your pyramids
of abundant
rape
and the
wealthy fascist Las Vegas heaven
the
Super-Rich knows
your call
girl
is just as
rich as you.
larry goodell / placitas, new mexico / 15Jan92
from Lizard Bowl, poems 1992
San Ysidro de Placitas retablo painted by Juan Wijngaard of Corrales, New Mexico
