Hope

After the devil walked out,
I set the house on fire.
A cleansing.
I went North to see the See-er.
She agreed with me.
We talked about herbs and tea
and the guns of history.

My dad stepped in as if he was
there all along. I tried not to,
but the Tulips were in full bloom.
The honey bees called me
by a given name.
I am on separation from myself,

and as ghosts came and went,
I left my silhouette behind.
I joined a rainy city for a brick
talk, but we spoke nothing.

The See-er followed me with a snap.
I jumped back to her possibility.
She meant to cut it at the stem
but I got more than usual,
and the Tulips changed color, over and over.
And during the middle of all Of this,
I found what she grew.
Hope.

Come With Me

If you have ever bit the skin
of an orange, lifting
flesh from flesh,
life from life,
you can come with me.

If you have ever sat at the wake
of death, eye-to-eye with the
giver and, or, the taker,
you can come with me.

If you have ever put your body to rest
under a sky full of the blackest of
widows,
then come with me, please.

If you have ever coasted over a
thousand scissors cutting
every corner of every thought,
then please, come.

If you have ever melted into
the sun, begging to be rooted
into the eclipse,

If you have ever swallowed a pearl,
hoping to be turned into gold

then come with me.

Blackball Grumbler

The disease in my brain is against all
this joy! A Blackball Grumbler who sculpts; Brute
hands. I am clay.

Morning. Beauty bows before me as I adapt
to sun luster. My feet go dancing
through crush puddles, smiling
at Emily’s “thing with feathers”.

I have been seized by desire, lacking nothing
of devotion,
trust,
love.
A free life will make nothing of
space for flies….

and the flies are swarming in;
screaming pollutants.

My Air!!
Oh God, My Air!

Inhale. Fly wings. Pinions of
pollution!
I choke on despair. Discouragement
wrapping Brute hands
around my skinny neck.

Last night, I met Concord on
a front porch. We knelt together
as if flies never existed.

But, it is today. Every last
night, on front porch kneeling,
is outlived by the sunlight
that feeds
flies to the Blackball Grumbler.

In God We Trust

I’ve been digging through past lives for
months, searching
for fingerprints
in five feet, eleven inches of

deceit dust covering everything
I know! How many times did he shed his skin
back here?  Dead parasites are proof!

He was on the roof when it caved.
Climbed  over four hundred days
with water and
a bible.

He left spoons and mattress burns below him,
tribe familiars blossomed following his climb,
extending gratitude,
tribute!

And he climbed, praising God, until he reached
Grace,
humble resiliency…

We sang!
We cried and we sang!
We wrapped our hugs in packages with golden bows,
throwing them to a skeptical world! We danced, twirled
through moon phases, a
fantastic celebration!

Then, a sharp raucous!
Brusque thunder crushing eardrums!

Blood poured from our ears
as the noise devastated. Bible pages
fell like confetti over
our joy; a tearful,
thick pollution!

We cried!
We fell and we cried!
We wrapped our memories in boxes with golden locks,
sealing them, our treasures. Silently, we
remembered, our Requiem,
a tribute!

All we know is that he climbed,

and that underneath five feet, eleven
inches of his dust, it is

in God that we place our
rusted
trust.