croppy rain dance

holler at the holy lord, pray for rain to come
to pour its shadow over your fields, your face,
to bring grain into life, into large stocks to pass through
like walking in trenches of water
and dance at the moon
dance at the moon
like he sees you,
knows that ache in your lungs
deep into your stomach
knows the ache you feel
the want of food, of success
and with thunderous
embellishment he whispers while
you're sleeping, like an oracle
that the field will grow
will consume the
soil, rich with worms
and words of nourishment
like 'love' and breathe life
into the dirt like air
over the ocean,
a place so far from where you stand
where you holler at the lord

body

it is just a body,
the sealing for the package,
distended skin pulling together and holding in organs,
liver and lung
a heart even.

it is just a body

remake me an eden

scrub the skin like its stained
like its poisoned like if you scrub hard enough
the innocence will come through
from behind all of the sin.

look to god. she says. look to jesus.

scratch and score my body and remold
me from the clay of this hardened man
and present me, illuminated,
to a world less tainted,

to a garden.

epigram for a lying man

fill me up, pour water in my cup
and drink from me this inauthentic life

untitled

snap back and hit the twist
with a kinked neck and
a solid stare
cant handle the glow of your eyes anymore.

wrenched back my fist and took the first blow
dont act like youre under control,
youre under the palm of my hand
this time at least.

epigramalamaslam

woke up early to meet the day like a caged in bird
it flew away

never wanted to become like you.

had you on my mind, thinking dont let me get that way
and ive been staring you straight in the eye.

walking away from you, but you had me in your grasp
and now i am the thing that i wanted last

so i stood outside last night, collected the dew like the evening does,
and i became the weather,

whether or not you remember my name

where i live

behind the fences of our trackside neighbourhood
between the lacing of your fingers,
and the dirt underneath your nails
and the dry air coats lungs and the smell of oil off the train and
the slacks of wood it stains.
thats where i live.

the drink i drink to you

its a scraping knowledge that runs fingers over bleeding gums
and drinks a drink to you
my everlasting and consuming degradation
how you say you love me and she is in the corner of your eye.

mom

mother of
perpetual dishwater hands,
or rag and soap,
or lemon scented air and home made meals
where are you now
do you float beside yourself
constant reminder of who you should
be and were once
and need to be again
and i do.

i do need you to be her again,
wiping off scraped knees, then scorning me for
the tears,
i need someone to be hardened for me
i have no calluses
on my own hands,
and its hard to push off the ground.