We are the endangered souls bound for hell —
living off alms from the table of our Master,
begging for survival because we are scared
to live and unwilling to die for paradise.
So they threw me up in the prison in Limon. Wasn’t supposed to be for too long, but I had a mouth on me at that point in life and I had the hands to back it up, so one thing led to another and ultimately I was there for a bit of an ‘extended stay’ as you might call it now.
The world is a conglomeration of over two hundred nations, many of which are barely functional, and even the most established nations have many, many problems.
The poet’s identity is perceived by the writing itself, and to read a poem is to sometimes see from those others eyes. When the writing is self-portraiture, we see what we might not otherwise, we see the internal perception of a person with a clarity that can be very intimate.
today at 17:52 the planet Mars ceased to exist,
the sleeping war machines that rest
beneath the surface, rust no more,
the breeze that soughs across the dead sea bottoms
no longer blows between the towers
They requested that I proof-read
Some poetry that they were
Planning on publishing and
As a poet I always write by
The rule that one should never
Edit, let alone re-write,
twice
the man’s body is strapped to the gurney
twice
his last words are documented for eternity
but a Greyhound will still abandon
Jesus in Tucson, then
reboard him in molecular Cincinnati,
reuniting him with his dark luggage
and old world remains
“you won’t feel a thing”
no I feel
every slow stitch and pull
on the landscape of sliced cheek
The oldest attendee is the ex-priest who looked out for us on the way up and is now married. He was very concerned with the local paper listing sexual abusers that had been on his team and may be wrongfully accused by grifters looking for money from the church.
