Orange [a president...…and now a vice-presidentwho just got the taste of segregationout of his mouth after fifty yearssweeps through South Carolinawith Clyburn at his right hand
Grip the neck of this coveted steelI'm your dirty letters and naughty numbers
I know it’s unfathomable to seeafter the way we’ve anointed himpatron saint of peaceprophet of nonviolencepriest of martyrs sittingat the right hand of Jesus
i am the concave ash centerthe ground-down dredgesof what happened before you got here
Haze knows about slapping tables, a practiced slapping. Some nights, if need be, she backhands all the serpents gathered around her, hissing...
If a man pulls up next to you in his carpants unzipped and hand jouncing,fly like a bird in the other direction.
Here is a grain of salt, a pocket full of posies, ashes,crumbs for retracing our steps...
In a nearby field, the cherry trees go dizzy with their own sweet juice,get drunk on their own bloodstream.
Princess Di looked best in bicycle shorts, carnations are to prom as shame is to sex, & everything tastes better with garlic.
even with a passport, I muststand at the back fence of lost desires.