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(the April 2012 Issue)




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Eating my heart, I find it needs blood

Fritz Hamilton

Eating my heart, I find it needs blood.
The pump resists the pollution.
It’s time to start the revolution,

but the revolution goes round & round
& always comes back, always comes back.
Eating my heart, I find it needs blood

& all catsup does is fake it.
I’m a fake promoting my own image.
It’s time to start the revolution.

I push the rock up the hill, & it rolls down
over the bones of Camus until they’re powder.
Eating my heart, I find it needs blood,

which squirts from my celestial pud
& evaporates in air before it can fill the void.
It’s time to start the revolution,

but it only continues the devolution,
down down into a half-eaten, empty heart.
Eating my heart, I find it needs blood.

With nothing to circulate, everything dies,
a paradox because it’s already dead.
It’s time to start the revolution,

but the dead neither revolves nor evolves
but remains a lump in the garbage.
Eating my heart, I find it needs blood,

rotting black in my black cavity,
making birds mad that crash dead off the wall.
It’s time to start the revolution,

going round & round going nowhere as
God-the-devil laughs &
eats the rest, pump & all.

Eating my heart, I find it needs blood.
It’s time to start the revolution,
but the motor’s rusty & creaky

& will not move ...

!



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