“You Walk Yr New Boots Home From Payless” & “M E S S A G E F R O M A C A R G O S H I P” by stevie redwood
“… with each reform, revolution became more remote […] But if one were forced for the sake of clarity to
define [fascism] in a word simple enough for all to understand, that word would be ‘reform.’”
George Jackson
You Walk Yr New Boots Home From Payless
thru a fenced-off plot of mud things are suspicious when they’ve never been dirtied like how fileting strawberries on yr favorite cutting board corrupts each slice with garlic but you do it anyway you’ve learned you can’t control most things but at least some you can predict in this way you learn to like yr berries better progressively perverted not because they’ve become good for you but bc you know what to expect & in what way is this not like liberalism? most things are predictable if you listen long enough you can hear the earth rolling over thru a rolled-up twenty cupped against yr ear each dollar a prophet w/ different fortunes for you & me & the CEO diamond-studded whiskey glittering down her chin as we bathe our cheeks in what’s left of the sun block & walk outside for ten minutes btwn work & work to take our paychecks to the bank & listen to the birds laughing from their richly papered trees cheep cheep find it sweet instead of gruesome listen we learn to love what we’ve been given & how is this not like exploitation? i want to be careful not to blame the terribly fucked over & also be careful what you learn to live with pain rent checks presidents a collection of single socks broken teeth no heat mold on the ceiling the myth of crime more violent than punishment “countries” the electoral college forty hours a week & cops & war & war & war & war (did you expect that prophet wd have this many echoes?) buying water the unhoused woman cleansing herself with a bottle next to the gutter the man looking down from his dirtless $3-million 3-bathroom loft before calling her in for an evening in handcuffs having nowhere to wipe off her dirt
M E S S A G E F R O M A C A R G O S H I P
naked casing of human, deserted & rucked along wet pacific shore spotted by two waxen torsos with legs to stroll through fog & eyes to eagle emptied skin :: they toed jumble of body like dead thing it was :: pitiful :: featureless :: pockets for eyes & no mouth to speak of :: mined for its sinews :: no matter :: no mind :: fleshsuit leathered by weather or water :: fingers weathered by water or work :: girdled with seaweed :: engraved with the teethmarks of beasts :: sucking life from the overboard :: arms :: ribs :: breast :: salt :: meat :: torsos with legs kicked yellow thigh of hollow human-shaped bag until shin folded over mouth & foot hid forehead :: torsos with eyes shrugged shoulders & legged down cold coast shore