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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Adam Fitzgerald - George Washington

You were my gym buddy ferreting along spotty florescent ramps.

Misbegotten signals blinked out bumpkin lanes over sable grass.


We passed through many things. Peach sirens, entryway orderlies.

Mangled disposition-stations. Chief in disbelief was concrete love.


Firmer still, a melee awkwardness that showed all registrants just

how we managed to pickpocket night. Then came dark crowds.


Some doodled for the pad, debriefed what pumiced eyes meant

in multi-dotted foreign rows. Buildings like a spider’s clothes.


Later, we sped backward. A maw orchard, windless in the mind,

boomed electronic lifts. I spied you at the prow of some sensation.


I declined to call another name. Pelting noise flew off fairy citadels.

Clocks, first thought abducted, were switched. Dialogues dispelled.


My love heard a mug crash on the countertop of Long Island Sound.

Our people became as ones lost. Not many rebounded with pledge,


not many fetched familiars, stretched legs, reread white meetings.

O stream, ring your ears. Handsome tubers, go ahead and wig out.


Modern territories click like a mouse. Body becomes human body.

On a skinny avenue I hushed up pyramidal steps older than sorcery.


You know how I want to share a dust ball with misty partner.

Dance one fabled evening and hear the skylark do something.


Picnics bended over, they happen below. Swings parks rung.

I inject chlorine into my memory-parts with lady satisfaction.


Are you gay? A political campaign sanctioned a quart of moose.

So stars soon quarreled back to the travel section of the North.


I ignored that and opened my lips for a job to crunch and push

at me, seeing the flat spacey wherewithal of disconnected items.


I want a second act. What can I say but this was my second act.

Must wrangle a look-see. The sign revenging its timely laziness


in the ruffled strut of an accusing pillow. I hibernate in phrase

as perfect as the mood of the blue lotus flower. Public aspects.


The last shipment of vhs tapes left its factory on this day in 2008

or 2009. Meanwhile, delis around town don’t go like they used to.


Who cares if I can’t hose you down my you, my Newfoundland.

And George Washington, someone we can’t really know, rows


over famed waters, wondering what his face will be, not in

the future, not for the monthly book clubs. But as sovereign:


as beast with dunce cap. I will dress you down in fresh lettuce

and gobble your ear off with smutty keys principled as music.


The marching saints won’t bother in battalion to much know.

We make of him so much hackneyed affection, dress wounds


as if equivocal all need. Hunger passes through to the other side.

Entertaining pals you wouldn’t call but couldn’t not think to.


A disfigured face’s humiliated psychic debris sprawls on gussy rug.

It talks you into needing solace while cup passes from sleep to sleep.


The positional plot warps but is the same. The deluxe mattress drifts

on gravitational subtleties like the rest of us, practicing the gut’s banjo.


No, in fact, I don’t know how he ever crossed the channels or canals

from that stout city. I don’t really know if I ever really need to know.


One thing we share is worshipping the image of a person we never knew.

ANOHNI - Crisis

If I killed your father with a drone bomb
How would you feel?

If I killed your mother with a drone bomb
How would you feel?

If I killed your children with a drone bomb
How would you feel?

If I tortured your brother in Guantanamo
I’m Sorry

Now you’re cutting heads off
Innocent people on TV

If I filled up your mass graves
And attacked your countries under false premise
I’m sorry

starring Storm Lever

"We tortured people unmercifully. We probably murdered dozens of them during the course of that, both the armed forces and the CIA.” - General Barry McCaffrey

“There is no longer any doubt as to whether the current administration has committed war crimes… the only question that remains to be answered is whether those who ordered the use of torture will be held to account.”
General Antonio Taguba

“We need to look forward as opposed to looking backwards”. - President Barack Obama

"Because every president eventually leaves office, incoming chief executives have an incentive to quash investigations into their predecessor's tenure.” - Charlie Savage, New York Times

(Secretly Canadian/Rough Trade)
© & ℗ Rebis Music 2016

Kathleen Flenniken - Our Fathers

owned the atomic age. They were young and handsome
in their bow ties, courting the Cold War and principles of fission,
the absolute of a scientific solution.


Shaved and shined, sporting bright wives and blond children,
grinding out reports and chain smoking,
our fathers owned the atom and were young and handsome
in their bow ties, boarding planes for Washington.


Bridge club, cocktails, school board meetings,
whole-body counts, contamination, secret-keeping—
owned them, aged but never changed them
in their bow ties. Even dying,
trusting Science to save them. It betrayed them.