it’s been a rough ride, the sails
bleed, the ocean is overwhelmed—gods fought, angels died, believing in something
is lethal; dewdrops beat me, rain pours in, the price of the Negro; years
passing, blocks grieving, the skeleton walking—running through like orphans,
waging war on the mirrors, wiped my eyes and wailed into buckets; the vomit
became light, the land bled with Jesus, and we wheeze NY California. it’s been shame, graces, and redemption.
magazines speaking the ghost towns, the haunted person, a soul is up against
himself; the grip of healing, the wealth of cringing, to see a moment shift
with belief. couldn’t figure an overdose. she’d been at it so long. the accidental
might be deliberate. a tear dropped, to wash palms, what happened in that
garden? re-shelfing faith, scraping ink-diamonds, reserved for the last trumpet.
mental cabinets, flooded with pictures, dripping into a weeping tank—the fire
is a portrait, like weaving over tales, big crack in the 80’s. families wiped
out, eyes dreading life, the addict beats his mind. seated, laid out, in a
cedarchest—and buried in forgiveness. sweating fluids, purple corn drops, like
music is understood; so moved by chirps and heaving.
