rough cable wires
haw the line
of rural broadband
and micromanaged
book worms
turned computer geeks
working the Genius Bar
are leveling me
like a two ton jet fan
whirring away
on an empty runway:
white WWII lines
painted thick and bold
wave lengths
of Hawaiian bases,
awaiting bullet holes
riddled as a Libyan
truck bed,
confused
as illiterate girls
raped in Johannesburg
by their brothers,
high on glue
takes away the hunger
pains and carves
scars in their cheeks
gaunt as starved meth
addicts in Mississippi
Delta swelter
and swagger,
turn off the lights
and watch them scatter
like cockroaches
and rats up-chucked
from the green sewey-holes
of backwater mud flats
damage still left
boarded up and festering
in Katrina's body counts
two-dollar toll on prayers,
insurance rates higher
than mortgage payments
when we couldn't
afford to leave
in the first place,
what's taking our face
and leaving it on the cold
linoleum floor? sticky
with last night's cheap
gin and mud tracked in
on Tims worn thin
from man's work:
the hewing and carrying
in the load on the back
of a tractor like some
crackled old master
of tomatoes and grave yards,
blue tick hounds, yellow
bellied fost-steaders
at the head of the driving wheel
but his body never
was found until some
camo hunter ends up
pissing on his bones
and the chapel bell
tolls six [six, six]
you're fucking with me,
right? I ask if you're
free and you said I might be,
I say yeahright, I got it,
I ought to anyway--
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