Saturday, January 20, 2018

A Place to be Glad

Afro-asiatic    spastic   tickle  in   my   throat    when  I     go   for     it          did  you   know   there’s   sugar    in    the   ocean    tangled like slow laughter in the weeds ?        Did  you   unload    the  gun     or   remember    a   shard  of  coral  calcium    and    send   a trance   yawning for  sunny  mirrors   before it lunged  into  your  artery        either   way   you’re   gone         I   want  to  be  honest      I    celebrated     I   danced     on    the  blunt  glass    of    your   nectarine  attitude    and     sipped    the   bloody   mud  packs   of  my    own  deliberate footprints  on  the  way,    fasted   on     that   blood     until   you   came  back    and   my  throat    constricted    in   a two-faced seizure   of   hope   and    dread.   


Resurrection  is  petty     a   hustle    a    hassle    I  love   you     I’m   so     glad      

Friday, January 19, 2018

Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Telegram


Do you see treetops? STOP.  A brush fire cutting through the noxious green. STOP. Brown hands the color of branches waving x’s into in the dander.  STOP.  A random uncle walking into the flames. STOP. He isn’t random. STOP. That’s the genius. STOP.  Of panic turned to wish. STOP. It’s Nat Turner. STOP. I watched a massacre. STOP. All those men on the run with him were hung. STOP. And then cooked. STOP. Eaten. STOP.  I was eavesdropping on God. STOP. She let me try on her costume. STOP. And I got stuck. STOP. And you know what I saw? STOP. That uncle who followed the flame. STOP.  He was going somewhere the others couldn’t yet see for trying. STOP.  And he got there too. STOP. Him and Jim were beautiful blue red and overriding everybody. STOP. And Nat was there beaming, slaying edges for a living. STOP. Sending everybody back-up. STOP. Laughing at death