Whitish Black Coffee On First Street

If you only told me then
how her life affects me now.

I'd have painted feathers on my purse long ago,
I would have saved every polyester button up,
every clip on ear costume.

I am sorry, Virginia.
Your legend lives in every part of my every day.

Fried Birthday Cake and God is Good; or The Thing We Are Not To Name

Let's take the low way,

Edmund Fitzgerald depths.

Eagles, baby deer, rifles cocked, lions den, cracked and black branches.

All these tell me to wait before walking.

The Professors Wife

What she really left was his ego.

I would've left that self-epitheting fool too.

With a son, a product too tall for anyones good.

His harmonica screams look at me.

Look at my educated accent,

Look at my worn out boots,

Look at my book reading.

Look at my wife walking out the door.

Jim Crow for Sherrif

I wonder if Mr. Rice was proud,

pleased he danced on the hearts of "freedmen,"

proud he set the first example for Nuremberg,

pleased he danced on the hearts of the hungry.

I feel the Great Migration in my bones,

I see the left over campaigns of the Crow,

I hurt for the children of God that helped raise us all.

Two cheers for the Poor Peoples Campaign,
Twelve hundred sorries for all the bloody Sundays.

The Sidewalks Finally Gave

Indiana feels foreign
you know, like we've never lived here before.
And the hearts of these men weigh on my own.

We wonder how we love them more than their birthrights,
their wrongs, too many to count.
Crying only when no one is looking.

Made in his imagine,
and we'll fuck it up always.
Made in his likeness,
and we'll kick the unconditional to the curb.

Circled Up Hawk Feathers and Many Accidents In As Many Days

Here is what:

I wanted to lay in that circle of feathers,
with no blood flow,
with inability to move my limbs,
with a shovel to remove the remaining,
with an ischaimia that refuses to let me wake.

Without your accidents bloodying my own.

Dead Baby Deer Good Friday.

Curled up like a brand new fucking baby.

Happy pre-resurrection. Little cadejo.
I'm sure you were the white one.
You had to be.

Those long longs,
I meant legs but this is better.
You looked fallow.

Gilded,
wooden,
figurine.

You have to know I'd carry you to the New Forest if I could.