"It's about words, and words are all I have…"

life’ll kill ya then yer dead

when the last cave person lay  inert+decompose

his people kicked at his legs  +left him there to sleep

when they returned in the morn   there was he


now shorn of scalp   nightweasels they came   the tribe

pondered this  +huddled in fear  who would next lay?   +was

this inert thing a contagion?  like the barking cough they all

barked  come damp spring days


a pyre was made  +they looked at each other sidelong   thus

paranoia  +religion  were born   alongside immortality +fate

we aren’t much more sophisticated  eyeing the bereaved suspiciously


will they give what he had  to me?  think smallpox  diphtheria  et al

everything burned  clothes  linens  toys   go ahead  ask anyone who

was in a sanitarium  circa 1925


from our old mother’s recollections  at 7:   saw her parents thru a

fence darkly  toys ash   sister dead   +then there is grief itself   a country

where u linger for about a year  skin flayed   half mad   with one foot in 

their  graves


20 something doctor in sweats  tells u to buckthefuckup!  i’ll give u three

months  then a prescription  this as the scent of dying brother wafts up

u know how deathbed scenes cling   then she comments on my pink shoes

+ returns to her screen


she couldn’t put a blouse on?  a pair of pants?  a bra?   fer chrissakes..



Fall 2021

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