It's very hot.
[APPLAUSE]
And I think I have time for new stuff, yeah?
OK, great.
So I want to read you all a bunch of new things,
more new things than I have time for, honestly.
But most importantly, last night,
I thought to myself that I would take it extra easy.
I'd go back to the apartment, I would
go to sleep early, get some rest, really prepare for today.
And then the moon called out to me and said, the fuck you are.
Get out here.
And then I went walking until three in the morning,
and I walked five miles.
And when I got back, I had to take some dictation
from the moon.
And so this is called "Moon Talk."
And this was written last night.
Up past midnight every night, giving in to the work,
giving in to the moon, giving in to that which beckons.
After all, what else is this time for?
What else would you have me do with time and space?
I might just rally a comeback, strong enough
to convince the moon to monsoon in the vast expanse of living
heat.
I may be beat up and worn down, but I am not beaten.
And far from worn out, I'm still all the way out here,
still down, still throwing putasos
against the state, still an enemy of the state,
still writing poems, still, still
I live this big beautiful life I've
had to fight every day for.
Still digging trenches on the page,
trying to bring you some sort of refuge or respite
from the fascist pyramid scheme.
These gnats of flat names need not
be feared any more than a hangover.
This, too, shall pass.
I'm taking dictation direct from the moon, live from the desert,
live from the floor of the most tender revenge,
live from the bottom of everything and nothing.
There is still no giving up.
Give it all but a--
this is a stick up.
Empty that consciousness, let it all go.
Let yourself hold nothing back.
Break diamond, hold the night sky in the crook of your heart
until you remember what it means to continue and become flowers.
[APPLAUSE]