Flowers of Anarchy  I ah majestic cities with your streets and towers sculpted into the earth with the sharpened bones of countless dead who suffocated in your depths, who were gunned down by the deformity that lurks beneath the surface  of all your denizens as they dance, smiles frozen, with orchestras playing processed songs? and as all the world's ideologies reduce human beings to machines of consumption and production, why are you depositing your faith in such emphatically described myths? and as the armies march forth to defend bloodied abstraction, will we freely lock our feet in blocks of concrete? II all the flowers that grow from this society can only mark its gravestones; their scent is pungent and acrid,  the smell of the putrefied corpse of a dog who had been beaten all its life and had died on command. III are the brick and plastic enclosures you smile and laugh in any better than the open air of a field of your never-fielded questions? we can accelerate the decomposition of this sick civilization by decomposing language. can it! can what? what can? question? what are you saying? do you know what words mean? how do you mean? how don't you mean? what aren't you saying? what isn't happening is liberation. what's not up is morale because there's no more morals. and it's better now even though so many pose, like questions, and appear to  retain some semblance of lively interest, they only are you look expensive today. oh my do I look cheap? you haven't got any answers you seem happy today, what's right? its all wrong, the world is the brink of collapse elle me dit, je voudrais bien vous raconter une histoire mais  je n'en ai point; et alors; raconte-moi quelque chose IV perpetuating the old hierarchies you speculate and act, how can(ned) are you) you fight down your desires until they start to bubble up like  vomit? have you often liked to  consider yourself an authority on a subject? who's subject to your professing? like a million rotten stalins dancing on the trampled workers and their desire to be free from work, (down with the proletariat!). the shitty zen of amerika and its duped citizens, terrorized by the state-terrorists and the leeches who control the means of producing (profit and adulterated goods) which must be taken over and run by the people, stumble along trying to appear relevant while the people try to appear "in the know" when nothing's really known nothing secure, nothing sacred nor profane all these crutches can only prop us up, let's all fall down  laughing. . V here we are, watching the timepieces melt -- forgotten lines course through your head astringent, the colors freshen anew, more brilliant than ever and art dies as life begins. VI inside the plastic tubes racing each other down the tracks we leave behind through these deserts of aluminum crushing old brandnames underfoot while a million more pour down in a rain like new desires, but only frustrating, partial compensations, gutted and skinned. VII drift along tickling old memories back  to life, winding down even though you've wound up dead like a wind up clock pop! goes the enron weasel  pop! goes george the bushmonkey pop! the pentagon went soaring  into the ocean and sank; bite the head off the vaunted cock of power and such hot air will blow out you'll be able to turn  off your heaters and relax. VIII dreaming myself back from yesterday i suddenly got blurred and felt like  a whole world photographed for the exhaustive records of trees they had to kill all the trees to keep, and silence waved me on with a slight gesture, speaking,  with the gleam of morning brooksides' untrammeled calm, the lyrics that dance in my brainmeadows seductive and sweet as the sugars pour out, waterfalls  of frenzied emotion power out IX left you right by the river, full of time and regrets and all this love turns to smoke rising in wisps; married clouds  made of tears and watered down who will break up and sob & the rain drops as they diverge, like abandoned freeways rolling over oceans and barreling through mountains and leaving the buffalo lovers staring, longing, across the barren expanses expensive, never to touch again with their eyes shivering sad songs of lost moments beyond the wasted land. X you cartoon people weren't drawn to scale these ego gamers' lofty peaks where only icy ideology and mists of mysticism dwell; loosen up, knotted bodies, obliquely staring uncomfortable  into these bleak corridors past scurrying mammals naked & vulnerable. nothing is screaming at me now, louder and louder -- like the vibrations in the marrow of the driest of bones as they rattle in creased hands folded and deformed. XI do what you've been dreaming  of doing; all your talk can never compensate for your inactivity's drag on your creativity when they're telling you about 'free' get dumb,  since you'll only give them evidence to bust you with if you don't -- and how many of you have caught the political clap, the marxist clap, the hiv of compromise and resignation in yr mad rush to pray and bray for deliverance from the emotional plague  in the idiot churches of capitalist amerika and only catch the state disease from each other quicker there as everyone goes around reproducing hierarchy another new squealer every year till mama dies,  a new generation of martyrs for daddy's gods? and what's this non-violence shit on protest-weekend? there's 200,000 tons of TNT hanging over all our heads and you're afraid to punch someone in the face? revolt against state and capital in daily life: they realized that their god was dead, so they reclaimed power thru the bomb instead. XII a fatal voltage runs crackling through the current cattle prods' current just as it's turned back  upon the cowering sadist crowned with dead leaves whose unsatisfied urges having clipped both his wings became the crippling prejudices that plagued him brutally with their manufactured desire-chisel;  and the shattering scream of miserably failed ideologies in blind faith of whom so much had been wrecked, pulsates forth from all the would be executioners of "duty" to "higher powers" all so unnecessary now, that we are free. highway concrete barrels through rolling countryside, the final recuperation of the levellers' dream. are you going to be on the barricades or in the museum? XIII today phil morris coughed up a lung, retched, took out his greenish dick and rubbed some spit on frank frangialli's bloody asshole as he bent over grinning, writing some new trade agreement and trying to get fucked vicariously thru the poor but only ending up missing out on the orgy  (at the World Trade Organization bash) because the protestors outside are still getting beat up; & fertilize, o worthy blood, the soil and seeds of  revolt: america is eating its children alive? and as i write they're throwing bottles at the cops outside the palace walls, insulated and frozen and the hierarchical organization of social life  remains as untouched as the shiteating delegates (to the World Trade Organization) inside, where frank's little meat -ing is now going on,  (off) the suits shuffle between little groups,  throwing and pushing and pulling money around like they do to people's lives, and frankie sits on his  sore ass presiding over the self-proclaimed  arbitrators of commodity-circulation, who  circulate, socializing drunkenly as they  discuss their sick techniques of exploitation and  arbitrarily determine prices together (with their World Trade Organization) ah, the trough overfloweth and is full up of shit the pigs rejoice as everyone seems resigned and it's business for the sake of business as usual until a rock comes flying through the stained glass depicting a handshake between executives and cuts up the concierge with shards  crashing to the floor, and lands, splashing up brains as it busts the skull of some diplomat (one less diplomat) (to the World Traitor Organization) as he was ratting out his country to the profiteers or discussing the pollution his latest investment required. he is at this time falling to the ground as a staring silence becomes the little men in suits, sweating nervously, for the doors are straining at their hinges and will soon burst open upon them as reality rushes in. XIV all the econocentrists are fuckless fools  who have only been counting their losses  and who have forgotten how to love whereas  the anthropocentrists are all sick with words,  claiming possessions and clinging to their deluded,  illusory grandeur yet never escaping their poverty;  together they waltz cheek to cheek over the cliff and  are dashed on the rocks of life  as the mayor of your town puffs his crackpipe and  stumbles out to piss on the bums  who shiver on the gravestone concrete,  victims of socioeconomic imperative and guilt; torn apart minds specify and classify,  cowering before the immensity of these realities  they've never lived  though the misery of daily life has touched us all with its fiery brand burning the mark of alienation in flesh pockmarked and scarred from years of boredom and drudgery,  routine and repetition. Do you really  still believe any of the lies this old world tells?  Do you still not know how to discern them?  the capitalists produce shoddy "goods"  and exaggerate, justifying the arbitrary  imposition of values and of exchange  with ideals and false promises,  while power maintains itself by any means  and needs war to advertise its weapons  and incite the blankeyed patriots  to dive into the meatgrinders,  gushing forth profits for the greedy few,  and filthy factories of death for the  maintenance of inhibition and docility,  for the production of reproductions of yesterday  and its falsehoods. & civilization is commiting suicide  with patience as its ever more imbecilic  leader ships sink, deeper and deeper into  the profound emptiness they try to fill  with explanations and nonsense,  overcomplicating everything. and as all the markets crash,  burned and looted, you can just make out shouts from the street: "free lunch now!" "infinite orgasm!" XV saddam hussein was killing some people trying to make like george bush  who came running up  toilet paper sticking out his fly shouting hey yr out of perfume let me kill your country's flowers with radiation; solemnly he sent some kids to croak in the desert and he laughed, ha! now that'll show you  who can kill the most children and with a sneer george picked his nose bloody, dropped some bombs  and farted up a storm of morals. and stinking to high heaven the american airplane crashed  because the pilot was absentmindedly pissing out the window on some village and couldn't afford to pay attention meanwhile dickless cheney had diarrhea, so he called up his secretary; she came running up and he spat on her hair which shone like a burning city to which a million barrels of oil had been  sacrificed, polluted water. and she bowed away saying thank you thank you for all the spit and blood as george w. bush pulled his dick out of  a sweating arab virgin's ass and fell asleep only to wake up with syphilis. XVI blood stained voter registration cards papercut my eyeballs open, lying atop mountains of recycled minds tricked numb; the less faith you have in yourself, the more faith you'll feel the need  to have in gods and masters. stare the fear and inhibitions thrust upon  you down, i up and stole from the boss because the boss steals from us daily while a snake came slithering up rumsfeld's leg to eat his balls and, having done so, died, poisoned as an iraqi or afghan child, whose 1st breath was a gasp of depleted uranium-coated dust and whose first drink was from the cyanide laced water that some american soldier had shit in, coughed up vomit and gurgled --  and the conveyor belts rolled another imagination into the sausage grinders; what are you drinking to forget? who aren't you? whose role is that? spendmoneyhavefunspendmoneyhavefunspendmoney workcommutesleepcommuteworkcommutesleep XVII poised on the edge of queasy meaning and drowning in the unreality imposed a halflife stagnated, radioinactive you aren't really listening wrench yourself away from the screen crawl up your spine and swim in asphalt until the noise is too much to take and loosen up that thoughtprocess so what if you voted? they still don't represent you and besides you've only just  legitimated the state by giving it your nodding head to impale on its spearlike unilateral authoritarian decisionmaking are you really only capable of being fixed to a bow and shot towards the targets you're presented? morning meadow coughs up a rose but mr suit can only kick it into the dirt wake up asleep and let's dream  this culture away and vomit up its poison and untie your minds sleep, falling ashes, burn, lawbooks. XVIII yr morals are squaresville baby come out of class guilt at least you're wasting your time, growing old when you ought to be growing young walk in the streets, wake up in a new now a new dream now  bird of prey -- pulsating castles ablaze -- gas stations shut off -- a love you left behind, tugging at your  brainstrings relentlessly smalltalking your ear fell off just now look down and see the streets crumbling and cracking as your footsteps on this concretized abstraction echo through the mansion halls itching to  splinter apart and give up truckin that heavy load of piss stained politicians licking CEO boots as they stomp the people's ghostly  faces in, ABOLISH EVERYTHING THAT EXISTS SEPARATELY FROM INDIVIDUALS