the american hindu

poems

-the american hindu
Think of the American Hindu working at the burger joint. 
When you say we don’t “assimilate” 
Think of the American Hindu working at the burger joint.
Flipping holy cow carcass to get a green card and not get paid.
What would Ganesh say?
As he balls up the sticky pink meat paste
palms together just like when he prays
The American Hindu, working at the burger joint. 
for less than minimum wage
But of course “we don’t assimilate"


-i write a poem like this at least once a week
I look up from my phone, where am I?
Chicago, St. Louis, LA? 
I’m not sure.
The freeways all looks the same.
I heard that there was a serial killer in LA
who used to bury the bodies of his victims under the 101.
He worked for Cal-trans and used a backhoe.
I look up from my phone, where am I?
Memphis, New Orleans, Detroit?
The big three fought for dominance over the auto industry here,
a car for every American.
Driving us into a future of acid lakes,
smog so thick you can’t see your hand in front of your face
and enviable drought.
Like standing at the water spout, at the end of the fucking world.
At least that what I heard 
I look up from my phone, where am I?


-i guess i write sweet poems sometimes too
I had visceral memory of the last time we made love, 
there was lighting on our lips and you were beautiful and flushed 
and you looked at me with a innocence and a trust 
I can't recall seeing in a persons eyes in my entire life. 
And that made me feel nice