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vircapio gale Oct 2015
spring morning steps,
barn stairs topped with boxes
--spacious vertebra


t'ai chi warmth on sand,
overwintered brick and moss--
bird sounds, heartbeat
vircapio gale Oct 2015
"they deserve to suffer," the moralist chimed,
tones of genocidal rhetoric cutting out the sun
vircapio gale Oct 2015
we could not've planned it better could
nOt've planned it betta.
could nOT've planned it betta could
NOT've planned it betta

we could've planned it better, we
cudda planned i'betta.
we could've planned it better we cudda
planned it better--

we could plan for it this way
'could plan for it that way --
'could plan for it that way 'e could plan
for it this way --

don't botha plannin' for it don't
plan on plannin' fo'it --
don'bother plannin' for it don'botha
plannin' for it

we could plan for it next time
--could plan for it next time.
we could plan fo'it next time could
be plANnin' for it next time

we could plan for a betta planet
don'botha plannin' ---  for a betta planet.
don't bothER plannin' for it don't
plan for the planet
it could be better better next time
be better better next time
but better planet plan it
b' better better betta b' b'
better plann'n next time.

we could not've had a plan
cud not've had a plan
could not've had a plan
could not have a plan--

we could not've planned it better could
not've planned it betta.
could not've planned it betta could
not've planned it betta
vircapio gale Oct 2015
the censorship meme
alive inside me as a child:
some books were worth the mention of--
war and **** were not.

untimely at a pennsylvanian writers' club
where fear lodged quiet smile-halves
in talking clouds and farmyard metaphor,
to weekly bray the corner of an antique movie-house

newcomers weren't to share their work
we three were welcomed as an audience at best
we passed the others' writers' chapter-copies on
on which i scribbled notes of praise
on notes of theme-entwining anti-argument
and **** zests of vast significance:
notes of floral yearning, meadowed love--
iron skies and ahistoric dreams--
off and on archaic themes
of which we weren't to share
i've been told i shouldn't "censor myself"
when i'm just engaged in editing:
the difference may be vague along a certain line
but i haven't shared anything in a long time.

does spam elucidate the issue of how best to navigate the interwebz?
preemptive dismissal of anything resembling or smelling like spam or what might be associated with the production of spam: id est, not owning a smartphone and neglecting to have internet access via one's computer, and also disabling netflicks from the wii
(∴) spam makes my life better by teaching me how to avoid life as is currently envisioned by contemporary humans
vircapio gale Oct 2015
perfect sunny day--
insects  sing   so    loud!
as i surf the web

pond water--
my hair dries as i click,
getting hot again

One summer years ago, at my childhood home, in a nudist colony whose so-called 'co-founding' is my family's only legacy--perhaps right before my grandmother had passed, or when my father's prostate was scheduled to be removed and he thought it best to hire someone for a last-minute memory (despite his ***-negative crutch-christianity, just in case the operation cost him his jive)--i googled, '*******,' while looking for ****, and the atrocity i found took all of a second to challenge my complacent illusion that i could remain separate or disconnected from the global oppression of women and girls while i consumed the products (i.e., fantasized about having *** with and/or 'making love' to simulacra-women; masturbated to pictures of them) of an industry whose widespread lack of any substantial commitment to fairness, safety, legal recourse and work-place equality has contributed to a new generational acceptance of the ancient memes that perpetuate bigotry:

dismembered girl
on an open body-bag--
why does this exist??

the insects clacking,
droning in the grass--
summer can't hide death

her hip bones' marrow showing,
young *******'s corpse--
limbless

her legs gone--
the image chokes me
from speaking

my sisters, too young to tell--
who do i tell?
why should i tell?

i read she'd run from her ****--
they put her in the river.

young girl,
her blood still--
i can't feel my heartbeat

young woman,
her torso bare--
unfeeling stumps

young woman,
her legs gone,
skin gray from the river

young woman,
your legs gone--
i choke  on words








.
please don't infer any absolute moral judgments here; or absolute relativism; i am questioning harmfulness and interconnectedness.

this experience is from an article i glanced long ago, long enough to leave an indelible pain beyond the mercilessly visceral impact of the image; there is a continuous undercurrent of suffering, accessible each time "feminism" is sneered at or when one wave over another is dismissed outright.

i could never share the article... i felt shame for finding it while searching for **** (which is a sharp irony not lost to me or the puritan in the room); i felt a fear of ruining someone's day, someone's image of me, or the cliche ignorance that seems so essential to happiness; inducing yet additional needless fear in young minds already inflicted with an unfair burden of anxieties seemed pointless if not harmful as well, as if sharing such 'hateful' realities could empower the very organizations that employ these techniques to punish recalcitrance and spread fear (which some may say i'm doing here, though my intention is to overcome fear-induced silence... although i can't imagine sharing the image itself) ... i hadn't realized until recently that i'd also been succumbing to my own fear by projecting it onto others.

these problems are systemic and solutions are manifesting everywhere. future pain is avoidable in the context of education, courageous dialogue, and the kind of love that inspires, liberates and goes to any lengths to understand and empathize.
vircapio gale Sep 2015
heinous image . . .
permanent source of tears--
just watching leaves dry
vircapio gale Sep 2015
Fall equinox--
at the ocean's shore
waves leap at stars
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