in africa the wine is cheap, but
the fossils are free. tie a red
ribbon ’round the old bone
branch of a neck. write a letter
to your mother saying Christmas
will be six weeks late since
i see no snow, but, mom, i might
be good enough now, wearing
stitches in place of my spine.
they’ll know my name for the tomb
i sift. holy hills, eternal rest for the
plastic-eyed. with no hands, how
to hold? limbs long, we beat like
the sun, red-rimmed eyes and
wrists in our wake. see, the dream
was to dive. now dirt fills lungs, and
your handkerchief can hold no more.
you left it in the last hole, hoping
a future you will find it, a history
lesson, how we used and used to be.
called “God’s children,” but even our
bridegroom brother blames our
mindlessness for the mess. can you
break a continent? done more post-
adam than by the Architect. partitions.
pleasantries. power. a pangaea of
waste and hate and greed. but poetry.
words like wear, the shine of your hat.
give guidance you never saw near
the sky. heaven lies under years of
lies. are we expanding only to
contract? or will the rabbits and
rocks sing praise? karma is
a spiritual equation, God being
parallel lines. He stops eating to make
His point, too. right? defy via refusal.
experiment with Truth. even
Bible flag people burners believe
in something. the meek and the
weak managed out of primordial
ooze. and, other than the abstract
we are the same with words.
who decides where love is
“allowed”? bombay brides lit
aflame, dowry dispute once every
six hours; but someone said
two women won’t belong. moon,
fire, sun–can’t you see
better by three? receive no response.
in the event of an earthquake
avalanche apocalypse all lines
are down. Jesus reads minds
as sunday morning crime blotter,
fodder for old testament plague’s
return. time for tea with Buddha
before sheets of sulfur rain?
refocus. the foreign words along
the wall you’ve exposed now explain:
therefore, when you say “now that
i’m done with being dead” you
have declared an alternative self.

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