The pig meat is banging on the walls.

I love pig meat.

Pig meat is what I crave.

But the masks are mostly made of lamb meat.

Some of my poems are written on lamb meat.

The smell.

Like gasoline.

Sometimes I make screwy dolls.

You put them in the oven.

Voila!

American love dolls and they love to eat.

Hello to all my friends in Queens!

You are all as counterfeit as Art!

And I am too!

I’m watching black teenagers perform death drops.

I’m watching artists perform transcendence with hammers and nails.

When I write about cicadas I am thinking about war.

When I write about meat I am hammering in the nails.

When I write about gasoline I’m writing about the body.

When I write counterfeits I’m writing about art.

But today when I was watching the black teenagers die I was watching the news.

It was about the body.

It was varnished.

It was an historical artifact.

It was the 1980s.