life doesn’t mean much here.
18 killed in
a holy
hall of worship—
when does your self
come into your time?
hung up on
divine chores,
damp from
the drying line.
whenever you listen
you don’t disregard—
you acknowledged me
with hands
behind
my back
lumbar support—
maybe i’m rooting my heels
in today.
did you see that?
you thought
it was getting darker
and then the porch light comes on.
make ultimate statements
about beauty
if you want
can you qualify it?
quantify
dervish fireflies
in
the mood dark
breadth archaic
in its countryside.
another glass moon
passes through the shadow
word and light
stomp the roof.
life doesn’t mean much here.
the mountains’ power
the
patch
of the
sea
shining glory
passing defeat
on the yellow brick freeway—
the cause of living
in the past
is dying in Richmond.
Somalian mothers
clutch babies
demand
justice
to be not
forgot
never repeat
the same song.
corn refuses to grow
in Jamestown—
ask
why?
now
do
i still speak
in a room full of men—
i can’t make
the
torch fire
i can’t smile
his
perverted chin religion
he smites my strength
a
squirrel in a blender
screeching screwdriver
electric phrastick
red
ruby guitar—
more is
Jesus
down
God’s fated stairway
to speak to us
in
prostrate humiliation—
this is not the way.
my Father
would have me leave you
tattoo your bone marrow
in hieroglyph pennies—
out I
love you,
life doesn’t mean much here.
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