Cotton

I.

I've seen you old man,
fight a squirrel for a nut,

Your face baked hard,
a gnarled tree knot,

Hair white as acid spit.
You specialize in dice,

Drink, and coveralls. You
can catch the King

Of Snakes by the bend
at his neck, uncurling

Sleek stripes at the feet
of us grandchildren.

The way your fist uncurled
onto the Mayor's face.


II.

In that house of skins,
watched by the glass

Eyes of game, trophies
of your cruelty,

Your plow-wide back
scoops over thawed

Coleslaw and venison.
Your hateful wish came true.

Your children only call you
asshole. But my eye has

Bored and stopped.



(2001, unrevised, unrevisited)

On My Way...

On My Way..

Pillow Talk

So many dreams
lost on eyelashes,

Stuck-branch molasses,
a mile long stripe -

Pothole, you're close
enough to thumb,

Sweet black gum - morning
makeup on the tongue.

On My Way

We Live

Every culture in its cap,
backs set to the sky

Dug out like an eclipse
curved to the invisible eye

Exhalted pyramid and dome,
we are between the squares

Tied by lines
we move on maps

Each lazy ass can find
an ass to break

Pass the sick-
ness with a kiss

Abandoned shoe mountains
and bone artillery.

The old cold-hearted familiar you --
No one likes what they're selling.

How can we look so different
with a color wheel and light and space?

Day Before (II)

Lime cocoon
on a bucket

Handle. Locket,
insect jewelry,

Gathered pattern,
your alchemical

Stomach strung
the house gold.

Self Portrait (in cut-up)