Oughta Know


He says you’re confused I think he means your anger isn’t

ideological in each moment he seems clear he

wants justice


like our confusion my nostalgia your anger I feel it on the street where you’re flicking your cigarette/handing out high fives.

I remind him of mess. of money

the bills we gotta pay

there’s something about me

come the revolution he wants me

against the wall

I have my reasons for being there

can’t seem to say sex without violence


he wants something

rational I

blame the Enlightenment it seems



I wanna make

a strangled sound.


Remember when you were god?


The song is in your pocket a poem a heart but I don’t know

what your hand’s doing now


I call you up I call you

out I stress you out I’m


petrified of silence


hurry up


what’ll it be now

the 10,000 spoons                or the knife?


Artwork © Olga Alexander