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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
December 31, 2004
Landlocked octopus in more home's than a Godzilla movie. More welcome than a dentist. Lasts longer than a city when empty. Coke by *futilitarian
Literature Text
Still noon in the paddy fields
in Kerala, we sank a well
to stem the flow of desert,
but came up smelling of dust.
Watched rice plants wither as the slow sun
silenced resolve in angry glare,
and warm dry gusts scattered
hope to the four corners.
In Palakkad, an empty street, sold
to ten million-dollar-a-day death,
men nurse wounds and children.
The women have gone to find water-
when the supply runs altogether dry,
we may find out how to swallow
the dust. Or our pride. Lesson taught,
we shall learn to drink coke.
Still noon in the baking heat
within the walled compound, we
stand around on wounded feet
spreading slurry on the ground.
So here, at least, is water
(to dampen a capital purse)
So here we earn our living -
a litre a day (could be worse).
Outside, the world is barren,
the earth is cracked and bare.
As boreholes tap our reservoirs
at last we’ve learnt to share.
So desert soil is progress,
and bitter stench is joy.
Infected feet dance to the beat
of the jingle writer’s bitter-sweet
irrigation for the soul.
in Kerala, we sank a well
to stem the flow of desert,
but came up smelling of dust.
Watched rice plants wither as the slow sun
silenced resolve in angry glare,
and warm dry gusts scattered
hope to the four corners.
In Palakkad, an empty street, sold
to ten million-dollar-a-day death,
men nurse wounds and children.
The women have gone to find water-
when the supply runs altogether dry,
we may find out how to swallow
the dust. Or our pride. Lesson taught,
we shall learn to drink coke.
Still noon in the baking heat
within the walled compound, we
stand around on wounded feet
spreading slurry on the ground.
So here, at least, is water
(to dampen a capital purse)
So here we earn our living -
a litre a day (could be worse).
Outside, the world is barren,
the earth is cracked and bare.
As boreholes tap our reservoirs
at last we’ve learnt to share.
So desert soil is progress,
and bitter stench is joy.
Infected feet dance to the beat
of the jingle writer’s bitter-sweet
irrigation for the soul.
Literature
vanilla latte
woe is me
the blind man mumbles
as he cracks his cane
crisply on the concrete
crack crack
the cane won't protect him from
the busy mack truck (crack crack)
the fervent cyclist (crack crack)
or even the zealous witness (crack crack
oh hello have you found your lord today?)
it will protect him from
the businessman, walking, dressed and thin
the blind man cracks him on the shin
Oh, pardon me.
(Fuckin' blind bast...) how u doin'
sootman?
What did
you say?
how u doin'
sootman?
FFFine...
i'd li
Literature
Coffee
I'm still stuck in the old motions you taught me, the tiny movements and mannerisms that ground their way into the material of my grey matter with the sequential passing of days. They say a human forms a habit in twenty-one days. Whoever they are. I don't think they know this kind of "habit," this mechanic repetition that anchors me to this plane of existence, this autopilot safeguard. Whatever. I don't need them. I've become something of a misanthrope anyway.
Like every other morning for the past month, I sit on the porch with two mugs of coffee and wait for you to come by and pick me up, and just like every other day I'm late to work. I do
Literature
Censored
Boy hops, skips, tromps inside,
dirt-water dripping into a sentence
on the linoleum forum beneath:
"The mud is especially good today."
Mother, outraged,
strikes the statement from the record,
appeal to Mop v. Glo denied.
The dissident is thrown into prison (porcelain)
and Mother ensures freedom of speech
is revoked, even behind the ears.
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People living in crappy conditions deserve Coke