in the cornfields,
I saw a naked vine, it extended into my loins; aftermath acoustics, angry
rights, still hurting in blood; dripping, gaining weight, hitting harder; a
patch of cabbage, a new carpenter, walking unto a cemetery.
mittens to linen,
clotheslines, business aired in public. a group at his guts, geared to kill,
like laughter from an old friend. speaking big talk, living like cheetahs, I come
sacrificing my lifeline. unto glory, a little gangly, searching for more glee.
a bouncing ball,
in a sacred scream, the bat is upon the book. gas was lethal, a generation
swarming, like sullen rites. so dusty out, so dirty today, doing deliberate
damage. a war at our faces, a film on repeat, a mother just killed herself.
it was mother,
written as accidental, how in gods, how on earth, when one knows complications?
say a prayer in Maccabeus, open a book in Sartre, relive the traumas of the
existential. a line for measure, a long time since, catching ink.
loving a daughter—she
feels invisible, her wife is a miracle. another cut grass, gave alms, burned a
potential friend. the color chases, the violence is verbal, aside a duck,
ducking in a pond. the last posse, the third woman, it becomes uneasy.
