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Coop Lee Nov 2016
girls, boys, friends, and words
morning river stones and stoners
water/smoke/gold bits
home known lips
years beautifully dreaming
maybe god
maybe house, and teeth, and stars, and *****
family thinking,
father, children, trees and feet/fort
of blankets
earthy far places/closer in pictures
legs been dancing
lovers been drunk beneath their best thoughts
gone
to air-like warm place, autumn
hand, or
deep fingered fruit and flame
alive to die
to die, is life
truely lived in color and crayola
kids making breathy art of movement, sport
to tongue and run
thinking of leaves, the spirit dog breathes blue
dreaming of big cool animals
he once saw
the meat of wilderness/tenderness
woman, she works the red dust
memories of street ancient holy naked heights
fun nights/fights/***** given
party lost body making ****** form waves, pool
full on tall-tales and books to seed
an empire
a televised endless story of flesh and
remember
a life, survived
passed on to a throng of youth
free spirits/springtime adventures
bottled pink sheets and the american lawn
bone-war in a distant existence
closer seen in pictures
fictions, stories told
retold, father’s factory soaked skull
his spit sweetened up in the mountains
goats we were, ready/ not ready
escaping slaughter
speaking of forests and ritual vengeance
popcorn blunted ghouls envisioned by pungent neighborhood momentum
weekend, high
Coop Lee Aug 2016
took the peel of a brooklyn sunburn to see
me and you were overexaggerated tensions stretched
across the time it takes to ***** nilly a nickel-bag &
into an endless weekend only bonged of in fables and videotape tomes
you fled the rooftop
to grill a cheese, and hold the beat of something new
Coop Lee Mar 2016
that’s my kind of girl,
with the long and big teeth.
she rolls a joint.
licks it.
complete.

        “dinosaurs ****** **** up,

she says,
and we breathe big clouds,
escape the beetle-wood plague.

shapeshifter kids
thumb through the guts of a dead mammoth
/or mastodon.
i never know which is which.
Coop Lee Feb 2016
she’s out there on the ice again.
holy night &
positioning the gas-tanks just right.

joseph is her father, and his father,
even if not by blood,
raised flame.

foot to throat, brother remains
in the city working.
he is building a rocketship
in the basement of his apartment
complex.

back to town and dying houses.
foreclosures and fences.
lake of fire.

lights: she lingers in lights.
something so true and alive about the revelatory
of color,
of the world when lit and hit by sun
or our artifice.

her lovers: one dead by heavy
lumber, the other rewinding videotapes
in chasms of the library.
she thinks on his lips.

her dog tracks wet prints
across the carpet and floors.

wish list:
        mittens
        huckleberry jam
        iphone solar charger
        explosives
previously published in Midwestern Gothic, Literary Journal
http://midwestgothic.com/2011/01/issue-18-summer-2015/
Coop Lee Nov 2015
one thousand shards, my crown was built.
not of thorns.
but bubblegum legos, saturday morning stuck
to the carpet
& days gone by.

crept out of fold and gut/   kid living
& watched by trees.
autumn watches us fall like leaves,
born of the belly and the mother.
mom quiet/

dad loud/
  men hid behind blisters and god.
  men hid behind tall towers and the bomb.
  men bled for immortality,
  warred and ****** resource for more, the door
  to an endless life.

dad taught me how the heart and brain behold blood,
& how the body manifests it/    
moves it/
follows the sun.
son follows father follows god follows ghoul.
dad taught me about the machete.
           about how “our fates will dominate us blind.
                               so man dominates the jungle.”
he told me a story of love and more glory.
of poor men and dead men.
machete theories.

he carved wooden chairs.
built a lodge.
fished the river,
    & reeled to forget the war.

harpoon the river gods.
the heart and brain behold blood,
& the body manifests it.
Coop Lee Nov 2015
teddy told me i got mad skills.
like my abilities come from some kinda legendary force, or jesus,
tall-me amongst the heap
of asphalt trimmings and songs.
bottlerockets & girls.

her body brings swarm of worms.
decomp, said
the f.b.i. men one by one
with tweezers.
i hear loud electrical hums late into the night;
up in that great nest of wire & bird bones.

new neck tat &
cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow.
we target practice on a bull skull,
our wet cigarettes
& turpentine socks huffed in the dry roofline
beside the rain.

that little boy in his mask is tap-dancing
below the streetlamp, puddles
& old oversized shoes.
his grandma watches from the window.
she is teaching him magic.

unit 13: where the young woman once
dolled herself in the mirror.
men & headlights rolled thru thrice weekly,
maybe more.
i remember her red lips &
white hat; her
watering flowers.
she is the dead.

deputy hart.
he loved her.
stole her clothes in the middle of night,
& sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists
of bra & blouse.

josiah, fat kid rarely seen,
he emerges one day to the mailbox.
a package/prize.
a decoder ring.
secrets to be set free.
Coop Lee Oct 2015
mom betrays us. headlights into the night
& up the breakneck boulevard
overlooking town\bluff the tough daughter of today.
dead husband\father\corpse to dispose.

      [home movies]

front porch blood trails forever.
she claims self-defense and camera-eyes
the local fame, local
single fathers and book deals and dead dog omens.
her sons conjure grandmaster demons
in the treefort
at night.

vault & library key-card access onward\on
black ink times new roman white flat pulp pagination.
tomes of wonders.
america, when dead and gone, will have been caught
between the whir of spokes and windshields reflecting
skin\television
reflecting hands and family secrets.
neighborhood secrets revealed by time and hyper kids. leaves fallen
onto well-capped boxes\bricks and licks or custom castles built so neato, so
truly beloved, my lawn.
my property etched out in this ancient proto-man landscape;
mortgaged glory in this sparkle and decay.

heir\son\brother\body
races his car ****** and fluxed up the boulevard in a ritual reach for more glory
and the girl watching.
he bursts into death, brakes-sabotaged, the molten ball of mazda.
father and son laugh there on the brim of here and hereafter.
aberrations unfinished.

into the sequel
of a rising son, a corpse,
undead.
exacting his retribution.

       [an unlabeled video cassette of j. moon’s vacation and burial in mexico]

the children watch.
daughters screaming at slumber parties.
son, a ghost returned in shades,
hungry for pizza and pure vengeance.
night terror.
previously published in Deluge Magazine, by Radioactive Moat Press http://www.radioactivemoat.com/deluge-issue-three.html
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