Camcorder: Deluxe Titles Suck Optical Coitus

 A man breaks down and is mechanized,
 and 100,000 expendable Iraqis revive
 as android processors on keyboards
 invoke the spectre of a binary order
 an Egyptian woman embroiders on a tabouret
 the image of a couple embracing
 through the flesh of their own children
 warped out geometrically          across the globe
 an attack of air-phones
 lures an entire school to its death
 At the port of Israel
 on a bus muffled voices with guns
 force gas in the mouths of significant others
 through the lost playgrounds
 I was crushed and tagged
 by a vicious number:
 the next rise in expectations
 Slips soothing replicant memories inside
 the global mudslide cartoon
 swallows the post-nuclear family
 beached on a shelf          celluloid
 through the voices of wave-people
 the lion-faced serpent
 Who will announce the names
 I've shaved
 to protect the innocent
 they kept under cold surveillance?
 A woman in a black garter belt
 presses distended nipples against a stiff,
 cocks, pivots and vanishes
 beneath the rim of the Indian subcontinent
 Sumatra glows exotic
 pebbles in the dash of the Seychelles
 spill down dark reflector tape
 unzipping the world
 Through a rift          in the birth of velcro
 a Caesarean scar lingers
 on my hidden wing-camera     the moon waxed
 as a snow-blind leopard might smoke in her eyes
 an endless cycle of frenzy and slow-scan
 Over Antarctic cliffs
 the convenience store of a billion tears
 caresses the right urge
 to build a consensus alarm
 into heat-seeking loins
 instantly and with unmediated ruthlessness
 Shocked on the groin
 out in the killing fields
 my test scores cancel          meat-clamps
 extending prosthetic incisors
 access the G-spot in North Korea
 and rip out its tonsils
 Along my inner thighs
 the force behind acute multi-level marketing
 schemes the transport of helium bells
 dripping from sleeves of Nepalese spirit armies
 under the shuddering stars
 a sabertooth llama
 breaks the silence
 riding the world-gasm like a tube
 aboard breaking trends
 In wetware                     thong-back
 Euro-trash shunts down a mall          golden
 under the sky-machine               a unicorn bridled
 before dawn
 systemic assimilations to the screamscape
 load both barrels
 and the queen of ravished gypsies
 lies with slaves
 Labor-intensive               menacing hands
 sail the ship of state through horse latitudes
 anywhere in the minus column
 the unknown and unwanted
 count as seams in the hull of the world
 and hooves tighten                trance-like
 over the gallop of commerce
 the most innocent confession forced
 A skin-sensitive switch jammed in the off-position
 halts seven continents           grimacing
 contestants behave homogeneously
 consuming the pattern of oats
 and unquenchable thirst
 strapped on your native dressage     a livid cat
 wrestling for the feedbag
 Within the whining               RAGE
 suck my eyes from the face of the lens.

John Noto is a writer who lives in San Francisco. A volume of his work entitled Psycho-motor Breathscapes was recently published by Vatic Hum Press, San Francisco. He is also the editor of Orpheus Grid, a magazine of poetry, poetic prose and essays.