Sir, we're looking for me? We know me?
Sir, we've distant data on me? Are we tired of me sitting and late waking too?
My ghost, bugs, and Sir, weirding way are all known to us.
Sir, we know everything.
We grab ***, squeeze ****, and put high finger on it
Such wrapturous goodness for me myself and I, but where?

In Crazy Horse Native Americans strip mall?
In ridding me of a brown heritage we desperately want to keep?

With every two drink minimum we are there Sir
With every bedding down in our laps we are there Sir

In ******* Dawn on Carefree wings
to lining our sitting Sea

Our hands, guided piercings
of me we are there Sir

We sleep in darkness sweet til
babbling Brooks wake us from snug slumber
When even Darth night shines with Gwendolyn's tomorrow
And inside my full belly, we stitch our patched life quilt
Of praise, amazement and montaged
secret places

We see Degas tattoos on milky body without form
without preconception

We count precious thoughts to fall
asleep in dark innocences, in stuck vengeance
only to wake with us, always with us

still

If only I could **** an atheist
to quench our tribal blood thirst

Our folly speaks evil
I hate those, who in folly hate us
I count them as us in the Game
of finding deep hurt and worried aunts

We hurl away insults to leave bare haters and me
eternally on a path to we

A Song of Lehman

Me: Just listen to my reasoning.

David: Oh God.

Me: Continuing our daily conversation; listen, our poem is prayed from common mouths but does that make our rightness any more meaningful even if it comes from Kristen's Good Place?

David: I feel you. Microphone checking our heart: 1,2,1,2; what night is this? Nothing beats nothing.

Me: X-mouth, foh sure. Men at work? More tongues from your lips? I'm X-mouth, foh sure; far from a path of pathology!

Come on! Step in with me, or maybe I should step off to pass.

Call, listen, move; it's stay the same game, hear it? It's the same holler, it's the same collar. Feel our words?

Big mamma hands us a Thornton, makes us moan and cry, makes us mourners mourning against them others in the fields still fighting.

If I die David, would you save my single Odin eye, and leave her under the crow's wing to claim the hated dead around me?

David: Shuck our fat mouth and throw away that proud husk;

She stalks our steps now with fellen eyes, like a lion hidden, waiting to tear a byte us.

I say meet her half way, at least wake up and throw her a bone; maybe give her our life with a sword.

In my hands, my flesh, my men, my women of the world, we part our lives, part our flesh and fill them with treasures. We hide there. We happy children coming from and inheriting privilege places.

Me: Facetime me David. I would be so happy if we were right in our picture too!

We can squeeze sage word
from Reagan's dead mouth.
We pull pithy page
from Mao's hollow ear.
We find cryptic gems
from Tzu's strato-***.
If they all ring true
what difference which
hole dig us from them?

Give me liberty
or give me...
what the heck
was all that about?
It was good in effect
and in moment I agreed
but in passing
what the heck
was all that about?
Impassioned flee,
logic remain
and I...
what the heck
was all that about?

the time she
slips away and i
am desperate
as a cod wiggles
in my hand

This is not it, but if
she were it she'd have
skin as smooth as a new dollar bill
lips painted like a street corner
and proper dark eyes like coffee
on a suburban living room
table

This is not it, but if
he were it he'd have
shoulders as broad as a Titanic
arms smoked like an oak
razed by wild fires to a fecund
ash that grips our waisted
tomorrow

life is Good
this is not it, but if
it were Deus, it'd live in the sky
above us in a squeaky clean bath
tub