from What Happens in Ditch Water
When my leg was still my leg, and not a ghost leg.
I walked each row, making sure each seed breached.
You came by on a horse four-hands tall,
Dancing flames ringing the cotton field.
You dipped and arched while I pushed the tractor.
So, we courted over three bitter seasons.
Then, in a copse of dense cool fern vexed only by deer,
I knelt: a wooden flute; You mounted: a knife in clay.
I always sniggered, being insecure.
Averting your gaze, I peered up through the trees.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.
Song of Cyclops
Polyphemus, alone in your cave,
I can hear you in your dark place.
Who would watch, on a moon-surface hillside
Your brothers and sisters
Circle in an oval
From land to land,
from Phantom Soldier
On the soldier highways,
Rusty lean phantom soldiers
With your rucksacks of molten tar
When you slept I put a glass to your chest
Remember it was I who sent you away
Angered and uncertain
Remember when you called me an
At first I said this freedom has a peal to it.
When you didn’t come back to me.
I knew it was an execution.
Cross me over.
What I Want
What I want is limitlessness unfettered by the self
What I want is for the world to speak for itself softly at down
with a new truth for a reckoning, for transformation.
What I want is for religions to be obliterated forever more,
at last unshackling the human soul so that we are at last born.
We are yet unborn
What I want is for the air to be forever bursting – charged – excited –.
with the energy from a friend's smile and the sun.
What I want is to crack open my head and invite the world to sit in the immediate room
that is my actual self
that is only their own reflection
What I want is to shatter that mirror,
dash that reflection and reassemble that which is the divine.
What I want is to move ever toward this newness, to write it and have it be so,
to speak it and have it be so.
What I want is movement and song.