over woodsmoke, cut low, feeling
depressed, like a damn joke. (I know better.)
needing something, trying not to,
going bleeping crazy.
how momma gave it to me, how father
let me know, the zest of the zeal, running into the future.
eating bile, toxic as lakes,
terrible blessed works; unpack me, let God hear, it’s been goddess or nothing
lately.
jute for breakfast, juleps for
lunch, a junkie in me—fighting to make it back, let through the bad year, just
fantasized about meeting her—I wept, it hurt, diamonds climbing up her arms.
I hear they spinning. I hear they
at it. Love rougher than a machine gun.
brain fog—for I felt good—like trying
to remember—those pains, the rebel’s inside, the days looking like—it’s getting
closer!
the vocation is silent, the sinner is
inside, meeting her at the terror zone; she laughs, so much beauty, feeling so
ugly—the check can’t change it, the trash in me, the gutter in mother—I can’t
let it go!
I get to thrumming, heavy at the
guitar, feeling like it was all unreal.
like the insignia has meaning, like
the signature means something, like the damp swamp wouldn’t follow me.
hectic and low. eating seafood.
like jumbo with the depression.
it hurts to see it. to feel
placeless. I wonder what souls are experiencing.
moving forward, to love her voice,
to see her once, to never again feel comfort.
