Poetry: Tow the Flagship
By Nic Custer Jan 2010
The concrete is calling.
So let the caravan
carry the carbon
copy (of) our mission.
With city limits
dragging off
unique positions,
— organize unorganized systems—
using tail pipes and pistons.
Our mobility is
Economic transition.
Privacy. Piracy.
Rustbelt ingenuity.
"Insanity or bust."
Our history is thrust
upon us so we give
it away
along bathroom stalls
and barroom brawls,
writing like we pray.
For some faraway god
to change the way we
feel, and how we live.
We are Primal.
We are primeval and primitive.
We build our city
on kicked rocks
and only let the
pretty in.
There is the grime
we prize and condoms
full of knives.
burnt down homes
and fields
of spent lives.
We carry our culture
in our pockets
and can spot you
if you need it.
You can read it
on black circles
of my eyes,
Leave a little dirt.
leave a little Flint
at each stop along
the road.
(From the collection Delirium, Delirium.)
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