Defiance is a snout that firecrackles,
cracks crabs, and has never seen an
elevator, lunar moon, or fried chicken.
Defiance is a bedraggled land, and the
very minimum contact with civilization
and a maximum fantasy with
civilizations, underground, down under
the weight and rapture of surviving.
Defiance is a surrounding of surrender to
asunder, of boats that rise, of boats that
pry crocodile snouts and slap fish, just
like your mama slapped her little trout.
Or you wish she did. Defiant is a daddy
who make you a man and throws at you.
No place for dandylions, just the real
sumatra, the animal horns of ecosystems
in which Defiance is humanimal and
humanature. Defiance is appropriation.
Adorno would applaud this defiance.
Defiance is raw, rot, rotten wrought of
production design that makes an organic
of no whole foods. Defiance is a grammar
of prepositions but few to no tenses,
conjunctions and definitely no adverbs.
Defiance is an isthmus non-judgmental; it
embraces a mama further ashore. That
defiance is an incoherence that was meant
to return. No cremation, just ebb away in
fire. Baby defies bathwater. Baby defiantly
throws out bathwater. Defiance is a world
unto itself that invites no gaze, and five tears.
Defiance is not an aspiration to originality:
It is when labels flutter in an old wind, held
aloft by snouts and makeshift handwriting
that laughs across the glass with literacy.