Seasonal Works with Letters on Fire

After the Orionids, Near the Plaza

A F T E R T H E O R I O N I D S , N E A R T H E P L A Z A “Give the monarchs some real estate!” says a woman, meaning butterflies from Monterey. Near Halloween, vultures wait in the oaks—yip yip yip yip— gosh, guys, what were you eating? (o, munch the corpse of Goldman Sachs, the owner bones at B of A). Andrew can take photographs while running, tear-gassed at 8 pm. Orion drops fire from his sword as electrons prepare for rain. The plaza is cleared at dawn. No jobs little jobs little jobs; big Jobs is in iLimbo, leaving his glowing fetishes made on the backs of slaves. So many types of non-nothingness the ground takes turns believing; in the hills, ancestors lock arms & do mic check––Here you are (here you are) in a circle (in a circle) in the night (in the night) You can’t (You can’t) bring it down (bring it down) all at once (all at once) You need mourners (you need mourners) to sit with you (to sit with you) You don’t (you don’t) think you do think you do but you need some but you need some but you need some— 7 7 ...