River Rock
It’s hot
the breeze just lifts and settles.
A man sways to dangerous angles.
The kids look quick but play anyway.
A possum half crushed is
half alive so the guy gets a crowbar.
He walks stiff hoping he will just die
without intervention.
This is what I mean exactly.
Wind shifts scent like piss
like weed, perfume, exhaust
all through here.
The KFC fan blows across the park
so who knows how the flowers smell?
Like greasy chicken and cigarette butts?
Like dirty diapers and beer cans?
I’ve waited centuries now.
I signed 679 petitions last week.
Sitting and clicking and clicking then
yesterday I found a stone so smooth
I cried and cried.
It touched dry in my pocket
pulling me down with the weight
of my skin absorbing
more light than ever now.
I touched hot lying on blacktop
oiled up to bake darker and darker still
but living whole, not tragically outlined
post impact , post crowbar, bullet
or psychic noose pulled tighter over time.
This is history.
Even the green grass holds
broken glass in light in dew
I glimpse the future shimmering.
Borders
Smooth ice stretched tight to the horizon
feeling vast but a few steps more and it’s another fake thing
I’m not lying.
You can’t trust a page
or a word, not from here.
Grass pops up where you don’t expect it
and nobody hardly says a word.
My friend raged about America
so long even after She tried to eat him up.
I jumped in to chew
that time then we turned and broke through
then we turned and kissed Her square on the lips
because we really do love that crazy chick. God bless her.
No really --- God please. She’s got a superior superficial –ness about her edges
But she’s not all bad.
There’re trees in the middle where people meet an eye.
Okay yes, everyone hates everyone, but not really some of the time.
Granny said it was just fear. But she’s gone now,
and I know now,
No ma’am, it’s just hate.
But I’m so in love with what we could be,
it really messes me up.
It still feels like home even when it’s a mess.
This place belongs to me.
And that’s why I’m staying!
Even if the water turns bright blue and smells,
Even if the teacher needs sniper training,
Even if there are so many secrets the secrets are secret and
no one really know what all was said, or done.
I don’t know how else to describe this relationship and
advice columns are not equipped for this line of inquiry.
Some patriotic songs choke me up and others
just choke.
from And They All Lived
44 47
A custom Stroke the tangle
Begins between us Split the black
Sugar Sway the scent
Sprinkle the sweet slowly We pray
Then say that we traditionally say Sacred, sacred
This is for what passes between us Holy curling rolling
We gaze inhale catch
43 Push hold
A little sugar between us
Then pull the stinger straight out
The strain doesn’t last 45A
But the memory does something
Dot a bit on the tip He wants to know
The savor is there All I’ve seen
String the blossoms Asks what I remember
Hang all over Not flashes
Details
45 The color of tooth
Touch tips How the leaf bent
She wanders the tangled wood What shade black
Searching for a soul snatched quick What face moon
The sorority grows
The sorrow mounts and grabs 49
Hair in two fists
A woman wails then burns 20 eye rolls later
Sharpening the stone I cock my hip and turn
He has nothing to say
So I fill the gaps
With snide remarks
We lean in sharp
Baring teeth growling down
Is that a tear? Tooth suck.
It’s hot
the breeze just lifts and settles.
A man sways to dangerous angles.
The kids look quick but play anyway.
A possum half crushed is
half alive so the guy gets a crowbar.
He walks stiff hoping he will just die
without intervention.
This is what I mean exactly.
Wind shifts scent like piss
like weed, perfume, exhaust
all through here.
The KFC fan blows across the park
so who knows how the flowers smell?
Like greasy chicken and cigarette butts?
Like dirty diapers and beer cans?
I’ve waited centuries now.
I signed 679 petitions last week.
Sitting and clicking and clicking then
yesterday I found a stone so smooth
I cried and cried.
It touched dry in my pocket
pulling me down with the weight
of my skin absorbing
more light than ever now.
I touched hot lying on blacktop
oiled up to bake darker and darker still
but living whole, not tragically outlined
post impact , post crowbar, bullet
or psychic noose pulled tighter over time.
This is history.
Even the green grass holds
broken glass in light in dew
I glimpse the future shimmering.
Borders
Smooth ice stretched tight to the horizon
feeling vast but a few steps more and it’s another fake thing
I’m not lying.
You can’t trust a page
or a word, not from here.
Grass pops up where you don’t expect it
and nobody hardly says a word.
My friend raged about America
so long even after She tried to eat him up.
I jumped in to chew
that time then we turned and broke through
then we turned and kissed Her square on the lips
because we really do love that crazy chick. God bless her.
No really --- God please. She’s got a superior superficial –ness about her edges
But she’s not all bad.
There’re trees in the middle where people meet an eye.
Okay yes, everyone hates everyone, but not really some of the time.
Granny said it was just fear. But she’s gone now,
and I know now,
No ma’am, it’s just hate.
But I’m so in love with what we could be,
it really messes me up.
It still feels like home even when it’s a mess.
This place belongs to me.
And that’s why I’m staying!
Even if the water turns bright blue and smells,
Even if the teacher needs sniper training,
Even if there are so many secrets the secrets are secret and
no one really know what all was said, or done.
I don’t know how else to describe this relationship and
advice columns are not equipped for this line of inquiry.
Some patriotic songs choke me up and others
just choke.
from And They All Lived
44 47
A custom Stroke the tangle
Begins between us Split the black
Sugar Sway the scent
Sprinkle the sweet slowly We pray
Then say that we traditionally say Sacred, sacred
This is for what passes between us Holy curling rolling
We gaze inhale catch
43 Push hold
A little sugar between us
Then pull the stinger straight out
The strain doesn’t last 45A
But the memory does something
Dot a bit on the tip He wants to know
The savor is there All I’ve seen
String the blossoms Asks what I remember
Hang all over Not flashes
Details
45 The color of tooth
Touch tips How the leaf bent
She wanders the tangled wood What shade black
Searching for a soul snatched quick What face moon
The sorority grows
The sorrow mounts and grabs 49
Hair in two fists
A woman wails then burns 20 eye rolls later
Sharpening the stone I cock my hip and turn
He has nothing to say
So I fill the gaps
With snide remarks
We lean in sharp
Baring teeth growling down
Is that a tear? Tooth suck.
80
Every thing is about God
The ants racing the
Dogs tearing flesh
The children picking at scabs
All of it sacred
Even the slobbering cat
Even the chattering whore
Even the silent drum
Cup your hands
Hold dry leaves
Breathe
Crush
Let the wind take it
Every thing is about God
The ants racing the
Dogs tearing flesh
The children picking at scabs
All of it sacred
Even the slobbering cat
Even the chattering whore
Even the silent drum
Cup your hands
Hold dry leaves
Breathe
Crush
Let the wind take it
For The Record or
Making It Plain
I do not want to be a hashtag.
I do not want to be a tragic and disturbing video.
I do not want a street altar or a t-shirt.
I do not want to debate the value of my existence.
I will not commit suicide,
not in custody,
not out of custody.
I do not want to be in custody.
I do not have a gun.
I have a mind, a soul, a pen, a picture.
I will not rest in peace.
I do not want thoughts and prayers. Thanks though – really.
I am aware that my vocabulary
can’t save me,
obedience can’t,
money can’t
fear, prayer, innocence….
This is a corner.
I am cornered and behaving accordingly,
Yet with surprising kindness considering the history.
Making It Plain
I do not want to be a hashtag.
I do not want to be a tragic and disturbing video.
I do not want a street altar or a t-shirt.
I do not want to debate the value of my existence.
I will not commit suicide,
not in custody,
not out of custody.
I do not want to be in custody.
I do not have a gun.
I have a mind, a soul, a pen, a picture.
I will not rest in peace.
I do not want thoughts and prayers. Thanks though – really.
I am aware that my vocabulary
can’t save me,
obedience can’t,
money can’t
fear, prayer, innocence….
This is a corner.
I am cornered and behaving accordingly,
Yet with surprising kindness considering the history.
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