did I ever say I was “good people”?

some days I miss the hasty shouting

the crack of fist on salted cheekbones

better that than the nauseous choice

of considered upholstery or designer phones

never weather appropriate, rather, accident

ripped and bleeding, waiting for some other

and days my head will fill with men of war

always in shock yet mostly in awe

a...

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the blocks of childhood

solid, set square in red brick,

yet from the start porous, lined

by a cancerous quick

so soon perished

barely noticed we chalk one up

then tally them daily

our stars of awe and wonder

in diligent swathes

until the toehold twists

and the road falls away

when the choked black

fear stacked Sunday Psalms

choose today

(a...

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