Some poems are pretty
about dreams or life or love
But I mostly prefer poems
Like the underside of stuff

I like poems like fruit, ripped open
and getting in my eyes
Like the underside of rocks, crawling and alive
I like poems like the inside of apartment buildings
Like my parents, talking in their room
and hearing them say my name
Like waiting for the bus and edging away
from the drunk guy who keeps talking to me
I like poems like long lines at the DMV, like
the music they play in grocery stores
I like my poems pale, with their ribs sticking out
shadows under their eyes from years of sleepless nights

I like ugly poems, poems that look like me

Softly singing voices, humming ancient hymns
Joining with the thousands that knew no greater sin
Than singing out their sorrow, their voices bleeding dry
Under aching southern sun, and empty southern skies
Unforgiving voices, songs that told no lies
Songs that bore the brunt of bent backs and lowered eyes
Song that called them out and carried them back in
One more day of waiting, one day of lesser sins
Is it worse to live in waiting or simply not to live?

And when I know these songs and dare to those sing these hymns
Is it any wonder that I'm waiting there with them?
I see it all behind me, unwaveringly clear
Days of angry singing, those days of ancient fear
And when I feel them with me, feel the weight of all those lives
I had better hold my head up, better not lower my eyes
Better sing songs of freedom, songs that tell no lies