you cannot count
to the sleepsong
i've sung myself
and see a slumber
Somewhere at night
go to bed:
you, I, and myself;
alone, we have our threesome
if your knowing knows that something is likely to be a mistake,
and your knowing knows that you will not find this out completely
until you walk right into that wall, jump into that wild river,
then what is the force that compels you to act, to want, to risk?
The desert started behind her back fence
wooden slats that couldn't hold the drifting
sand, squat ugly houses all the same
on the grid of streets past the gate—
& each breath eliciting a hangnail’s comfort
when you’re in the mood for nothing
—that’s when the spectacular invades.
It is at this point in the poem
when I would like to address
the blue skies, spring winds,
and mama's cornbread
At the end of the day when the lights getting low
And the suns sinking down and the airs getting cold
When I'm hungry'n tired and there's nowhere to go
Then I am that I am when I am is my home...Home
I wanted to write you a long letter
About what goes down here. This will have to do.
My heart is true but my fingernails are dirty.
I thought of this while buying poppy seeds
From the Smart & Final at six