I won’t insist on flatness
a bit more holiness a bit more secular. the blackness bled me the mothers girt me,
a bad gray pit bull—to see it growling to see it menace we keep kids at a fraction.
they used to fight dogs they used to sell cocaine it was the mid-eighties.
momma’s fried
momma’s high for momma was raped. to see her sleeping, trying to wash her
brains, I can’t imagine being by imagination.
most sisters turn
bad into good most sisters are something androgynous or most sisters are trying
hard not to jump ship.
I met a woman I met
a scream I made love to a dying terrain. I had a friend, like broken to be
right, so wild the years without a reference.
I sipped champaign
I smoked chronic I read Chronicles.
it seemed obvious
a tree at his gravesite a machine holding too much. an impatient animal a life
we presume, while I was made crosswise – the good the bad as momma was proud,
we entered college.
a mistake in me a
problem in me and no one skipped a chord – same madness same habits expecting billion-dollar
loyalty.
we tatted ankhs we
spat lyrics we set fire to our intestines. a jackal’s profession, a zebra’s
calmness, or rhino anger—as dying men so lost in fields with a child struggling
over a pomegranate.
sporadic
addictions a face filled with ash a miracle momma made it those years.
sworn nomads, from
Cali to Texas, from Texas to Jersey. like grasshoppers like wax-on-wax-off, much
a slow process – like finding a father. fluttering feathers, fragmented graves,
a giant in her name. a dragon at me I’m churning alleys, I’m doing like ninety –
a golden catfish a net in spirit it seems genetics are grieving.
but a wheel spider
but a flying miracle where a mistake would blast into fantasies. amuck like
heathens so holy like laughter so contagious like liquor. too much to give,
sold into addiction, it’s hell how it captured us.
