“self care stops at the barricades”

self care stops at barricades

it is good the call out brigades

only exercise will through 

hands coming out the internet

what chaos  that fascist band

of hooligans would wrought?

in other tme lands they 

have “marxist-leninist” as purity suffix

identity individuals ego signs

of anti-timed lines

expressed in liberatory narcissism

Death to Mediocrity!

only “you” in Youth

expounded in narcissism

refute to being background noise

extras in your own life supernumeraries!

@xennialpoetrynotes

i didn’t apologize to a robot he was more human and gendered than me

(robot is Slavic for forced labor)

presumed programmable

in a non-profit 

holographic

classification

Anitkythera clock

saros remote sequence

spiral the rocket fled

healing time travel

in wound-up tin

steel flanges

one human imputation 

math from Vitruvian man

oh god, another ally

aboard Talos 

countercirculating stratum

collid intrinsic

myth of flying automata

cancel birth your happiness

dull and blind 

illegitimate metamorphia

and,

drum,

to,

the drunk,

vino,

slugging, 

sonnetters’

demodulatoring mouths

sore from sorries

malfunction you diaphanous

apologizing to cognates

injection neurosyphilis from droids

domo-limbo

neo sparkles supreme

pinch dreams connect

unmechanical pen points

left follicle ophthalmologic sway 

@xennialpoetrynotesLucas Alan Dietsche 5/22

We are chandeliers

i know your not around

faithful to progress certitude

your own dream catcher 

i’ve fallen into distinct lives

i have hobbies when they are

not coming for  me 

or coming for me

i frequent the alone

left alone with my truth

i do, but a wait

to deal with trauma till monday

you’ll take slice of crashing 

                       pure judgment

your not around 

rife in tenacious 

you see

appearance only for strangers’ past lives

we are chandeliers 

LAD 4/22

Poets Death Statue

“Poet’s Death Statue”

wake up little eyes

just in time for day.

adjust yourselves, 

zooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom, 

you will soak in burning electrolytes.

to fill up on the atoms creators

no longer locked by skin doors

yet imprisoned in two caves, 

you will never be free on your own and lonely.

with you two, I see the same sewn on faces to lie with.

in the television screen mirror, 

i am picking at my own yarn face threads.

what is under is rubber epidermis thrown on an aluminum rack 

in perfect papier mache.

I look with you two blue bulbs on 

where to inject feelings?

where to inject emotions besides ears, mouth, nostrils?

feelings are so cold to me.

I read the nutrition facts for my body robot

to understand and how to exert solidarity beyonce my own skin boundaries.  

but my corrupt, body robot, that walks , walks, walks 

over bricks and the expressionist chalk on sidewalks,

and my globing eyes fills up in even filaments 

all locked up, makes me free to filter laughs. 

watching a nuclear explosion in a bath tub

seagreen corral bathtub

post-noon

in nude naked water

my own interdermite surf 

ping inebriate faucet

army chemical mask slid down

in surplus sweat fabrication

outside screen epson salts salinity

in freakish April 

withdrawness whitish solemnity

detachment from dour glaciarity

every graupel avalanches last

when sirens tocin pumps off

i only know it was abstract

mechanism shout around

                     OOOOO               OOOOOOO

whooooOOO            whoooooO                  whooooooo

a caterpillar of roundly friction

behind sirens mouth total magnetism

was awaiting manufactured

crowning through cygetic horn 

burbly warnings tornadoes war

returning along with gravity Los Alamos-style

huge incoming nucleus

to adieu the human process

4/22

when Oumuamua crossed

starscreen all changed

cigar at the hospital 

bathroom in scrubs

swirly mystified

nice cuppa coffee

and cigar

held aloft

brighter larger

cousin

burning entrails

rainbow inflection

excursion to be with us

i felt no frozen

only welcoming dust

to erupt upon my brow

LAD 4/22

Till year zeros

turn off your head

what sun laminates

against war of saliva

closed our mouths

since we do not make out with oppressors

till year zeros

gravity and neptune’s sun raki us

clad in distinct breezes

cloaked in tissue

eyes poisoned

brain is only rumor!

till year zeros

local air raid sirens 

stretch explorium  unabided

ellipsis atmosphere

till year zeros 

our laurels we drag as Hector

lamenting if we burnt our lives

curse that die and life

rhyme in complementary juxtaposition

die pain die

under fairground bleaches

bubbling arm night hands of god

comfort in pillow teeth 

till year zeros

hope to get over martyrdom

without reintegration 

love for Ankar

i have the one-way cortext

belonging to the zealot

underneath loam legs

tendons increasingly jealous for 

sunlick

sunpink-eye octopus sitting shine

till year zeros

who do we learn to play god from?

-it was a poets monolithic servitude

and the riddance of history

as a burden and quarreling acrobat

negativism syncretic

Hail Morrose!

Long Live the Sublate!

till year zeros

grocery plastic locked arms

skyrun in microfiber

atomic seizures

our nuclear way

preface lungs rock in pumice

against pocketed electric lime

rain breathes of scorpio

till year year zeros

forest communards

backyard home furnace

birth terra cotta

sulphur bloom as corpse flowers

people took naps at noon

under melanin sun

till year zeros

hard to walk horizontal

when every atom is watched

and dissected

and spoken speak and language

pens analog paper read again

till year zeros 

garbed in anarcho-syndicalist

box elders take to the windows

till year zero

knife delicious

sanguinarians and after-devourers

till year zero

till year zero

till comets lay claim to craters

burning popcorn

and the union of two galax-star

the drumming Andromeda

and me disappearing 

as pipe tobacco mist

i am the anti-being 

never to be the essence. 

Lucas Alan Dietsche 4/22

“que the revo monopolia”

had me at the metaphysical

sprouting fists

in living rooms of mismatched sox

hang from limbs 

to conscious hair-raising

to resisting blitz,

phalanx of holding bamboo pikes

in suburbian hues in flip flops

drilled on atrophied sidewalks

the grasses golden rods ox-eyed daisies in hats

alarm clocks hang themselves

by their own cord

engineer buildings jump crashing 

down from the scaffold

rendering in Warholean murals and all Dadaist

popcalyptic art to lichen over advertising graffiti

some under roots cavities

of layering loam to keep distance

from the sick air

no skin survives above ground 

and everyone doing covid on their own

resigned to desulatory cigarillo smoke

breaks outside bunker fiesta poems entrance

with eva braun entourage

unlocked out of silverous

cigarette cloister case

and i am the gender 

that gasps the last cigar

spouting as steel mill

against window

at the juxtaposing orangy rain

3/33

“when Facebook was a God”

phenotypes has recording 

corneas in their palms

multi shade tentacles

one large squid

kowtow to electronix gods

to drink electrix

phone heave 

nasal breaths

release the barx

out of a glass box

Facebook is our bod

out of a door

3/22