Citizen Under Power

I live in the shinning acidic belly
Of empire.
Cancerous, I am a Marxist,
Yet still of the body,
And for the body:
America.

My dwellings spring from muddled thoughts,
Monstrous steel wombs,
Woven in the centuries of karma,
Whose rough silk smothered,
Peyote Buddhas --
Indian slaves for the Spanish-Catholic mines,
Christ consciousness for metal.
Movements of the multi-tongued empire
Lapping up the peasant entropy
That oscillates in the dialectic sweat and blood,
Dreaming of:
SANDINISTA.

Yes, we are cells of the northern eagle beast,
Stench of the ego winds
That have filled the bourgeois colleges
With suffering -- dukkha
Doom of the Asuras,
Descending from the power of the air
Into synaptic skull temples
American brain -- Trust
Us!
Exxon.

And the poets still talk about wheelbarrows
And eat Chiquita bananas,
United Fruit Company,
Guatemala,
Indian Auschwitz.
Images develop continuity,
Beyond the Newtonian lie.
Motion doesn't exist.
George Bush doesn't exist.
We do not exist,
In form,
Only events --
Thoughts of ancient ones
Or maybe ancient poems.