More important to be honest
than original

If hackneyed lines race from your pen
let them run let them run

at the end you'll find
there was no race at all

no trophy awaits you

break free of the track
ride your truth all the way into the sunset

He was right about April
callous brutality
washing our sorrows in joy
each sweet breath effortful
eyes reborn to the brightness
unaccustomed to all this blossoming
an embarrassment of beauty

but we go on
year after blistering year
infusing our days with purpose
we'll never come to understand
your lips against mine in
mysterious bliss

You don't begin with Guernica
if that's somewhere you're ever
meant to go

chubby baby hands grip the crayon
someday if you're lucky (or not)
they'll draw a thin straight line
in charcoal
just the least perceptible curve
enough to delight the eye
imperfection thrills the masses

then you paint and paint and paint
time and patience
some money
luck again, always luck

you're a master

maybe someone will recognize in your lifetime
most likely no
unless you're a tireless self-promoter

but your work
your work is sublime

Words fly in fly out
was there ever any doubt?
words fly out fly in
fall down wasted in the bin

Death, my friend, is in everything
we touch
the small porcelain cup
which holds my coffee
the tiny silver spoon that
stirs my mind

our breaths are numbered
assigned at birth
watching your chest rise and fall
as you sleep
I count
trying to formulate between us
the perfect equation

my deep and dire dreams
redeem me
no lunar memory remains
I'm transformed with no recollection
precious state
dissolving ribbon
a fresh organism
cells renewed
a sloughing off of the night
a hatching
perhaps, after all, there is a soul

I plan to be

one of
The

next

generation

where rhyme

is not
a crime

I'll accomplish it somehow

be reborn
into
a
family
wealthy but neglectful

weirdos

do my time as a child

woeful adolescent
suffer slings & arrows

come out on
top

my pen poised
to write this
simple
song

Made from ground up leaf of
sassafras

taste like the bottom of the bayou
shrimp boil
smoke and gators

sprinkle it on stir it in
don't cook it or your gumbo
gets stringy-ew
Choctaws knew

FDA will tell you it's poison
like strong words
bad haircuts
keep sipping your KoolAid please

nothing but magic in filé
flavor of down-home voodoo
zydeco iron skillet cornbread
Mama knows what's good for you