god hates your economic machine, your war machine, and your actual machines

The following is part of the 2019 May Poetry Feature at C4SS.  

pick ply plumb lungs from empty attic static attack addicts on half racked grief from thief in their solace state has haphazard lack luster map maker she hits finished slits across concrete constables and rips a thick lap victory vein in her golden hair stains with mattress intact with tacky lap happy places in motion with devotion vocation in empty train station green glass tile bathroom habits hits one more rabbit she holed in moles like darkness rolls off the tongue after her halfway house graves in perennial staves off death with missed kisses in calamity that six thousand dollar casket

The Anatomy of Escape
Fighting Fascism
Markets Not Capitalism
Free Markets & Capitalism?
Organization Theory
Conscience of an Anarchist