Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Clever, Childlike, Constructed

Clever, Childlike,  Constructed

Let’s talk about the first Thanksgiving,
            In this Common Era,
In Matthew’s eleventh,
In Jesus’s own words:
“O Father, Lord of heaven and earth,
Thank you for hiding
These things from those who think
Themselves wise
And clever, and for revealing
 Them to the childlike.”
Let’s talk about the first Thanksgiving,
            In this New, new World,
At makeshift Spanish docks
            In the sixteenth century.

Let’s talk about the first Thanksgiving,
            Among English Puritans,
In abandoned settlements
            In sixteen aught seven:
“That the day of our ships arrival
At the place assigned
For plantacon in the land of Virginia
 Shall be yearly and
Perpetually kept holy as a day of
Thanksgiving to Almighty God."

Let’s talk about the first Thanksgiving,
            In Boston after harvest,
After the first trying Winter,
Pilgrims thanking Natives, God.

Let’s talk about the first Thanksgiving,
            Ordered civilly, not
Religiously; Sixteen twenty three
            Buckles and Gods and Feathers
Breaking bread, maize harvest, fowl.
            After drought, more after rain:
“By this time harvest was come, and instead
Of famine now God gave
Them plenty…for which they blessed God.”
            Breaking fast. Thanking God.
Let’s talk about the first Thanksgiving,
            In America, by decree to, in
Seventeen eighty nine, by Washington:
“That great and glorious Being.”

Let’s talk about the first Thanksgiving,
            Amidst a Civil War, of brothers
Needing a feast around which to tarry,
            America’s new father proclaimed:
“No human counsel hath devised
Nor hath any mortal hand worked
Out these great things. They are the gracious
Gifts of the Most High God,
 Who, while dealing with us in anger
For our sins, hath…remembered mercy.”

Let’s talk about the first Thanksgiving,
            Yours and mine, his, hers,
Just last year? Amongst the lack and need:
            Remembering myths like truth.

Let’s talk about the first Thanksgiving,
            The last Thanksgiving, our
First, last, next, and after that. Thanks
            For things we may never know.
Indians and Pilgrims breaking bread,
Indians and Pilgrims at war.
Puritans and rebels making nation,
Puritans and rebels at war.
Americans and Americans breaking bread
Americans and Americans at war.

Let’s talk about the last Thanksgiving,
            Giving thanks for giving thanks,
Oblivious to myth: to truth: words.
            Clever, childlike: Thanks for thanks.
Read more of my poetry, essays, and stories at           

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Accountability or Far Back: America.

"Accountability" or
Far Back: America.

            From what?
In a nation of immigrants—
            All immigrants
Far back enough.

            For what?
Decriminalizing hope—
            Affirming hope
Far back enough.

            For whom?
From native prejudice—
            Prejudiced natives
Far back enough.

            Why, Where?
In Free America—
            Free America!
Far back, enough.

            How? How!
By any means—
            Any damned means!
Far, back enough.

What is: America now.


What is right?
            What is fair?

What is left?
            What is line?

When must this,
            When will this,
When can this,
            When, how, this,
When, if not this?
            When, how, America?

What is now?
            What is America?
What is posture?
            What is political?
What is rhetoric?
            What is true border?

What is Right?
            What is Left?
Richer and broader:
            Arms wide opened,
Slapping! Embracing!
What is America now?
Far back: Enough.


Wednesday, November 5, 2014



Counting and trying to count:
            And not counting at all,
                        And abstaining
                        On the ballot,
                        And abstaining,
                        By not showing up.
            And not trying at all,
                        And complaining
                        About losing,  
                        And lamenting,
                        Without any effort.
            And not caring at all,
                        And ignoring
                        The noise,
                        And out-toning,
                        Bombast and rhetoric.
Not counting and not trying to count:
And counting in abstentia,
                        And casting votes
                        On the ballot,
                        And casting votes
                        By not showing up.
            And trying to matter,
                        Hiding disappointment,
                        By just showing up.
And trying to be heard           
Among the noise,
Crying to be heard,
Above the noise,
In tone deaf ether.
And showing up
            By not showing up,
And showing up
            By showing up.
And counting,
            And not counting at all.


Sunday, November 2, 2014

Five Fingers of "Will"

Five Fingers of “Will”


And Testament.

Fuck it. (Insert Ring here                    V\/V ).

You ever be able to love me half as much as I love you and if the answer is yes then that’s good enough for me because half of how much I love you is still so huge and I couldn’t imagine living the rest of my life with anybody but you because I love you with all my fucking heart.

You be mine forever?

This October

This October

On October twenty-fourth, four years ago,
            He was saying his good-byes
                        To his best friends--
                        His mother, his aunts--
            And packing up his house,
                        To start a new life
                        South and on the Gulf.

On October twenty-fourth, four years ago,
            I was living in bottles, in despair,
                        Losing everything,
                        Killing myself slowly
            With whatever tools I could find
                        On over-mortgaged,
                        Undervalued time.

On October twenty-fourth, three years ago,
            He was weekending on Eola,
                        Licking his own wounds,
            From a broken heart of his own,
                        Navigating lost love
                        On the crest of new hope.

On October twenty-fourth, three years ago,
            I was made alive again, alive,
                        Underservedly ,
            Loved with pure affection,
                        Loved first and frightened
                        By certain failure,
            Loving back apprehensively.

On October twenty-fourth, two years ago,
            We lived together in remnants
                        Of my shattered past,
                        Spooned on my old sheets,
            That I cautiously unmade, clinging
                        To the anxiety of
            In the face of full acceptance.

On October twenty-fourth, one year ago,
            We had made our own place together
                        Just ours and modest,
                        Just ours together,
            Free from haunting ghosts and
                        Free from depression;
                        With our own dirty sheets,
            With our own life together, with love
                        And tomorrows
                        And yesterdays
                                    Of our own.

On October twenty-fourth, one minute ago,
            We committed to a together forever
                        With diamonds and gold rings:
                          Quietly: unceremoniously.
            The sweetest kiss he ever gave me
                        The sweetest I’ve ever had
                        The last kiss I’ll ever need,
            Saying our hellos, officially an us:
                        No forced labels,
                           Just love promises

                                    Of our own.

Read more of my poetry, essays, and stories at