American Jazz
Jails
Slaves
Waves at freedom
She at the door, too forgetful
Bothersome Invention war is
This is a far as a sound
As nearest minds kindly borrow
Works flat
And out the door
Slaves in jails
Forward my ship
On top and on back
Waters a ways to work
Laddles become hospitals
Without spoons
Only the together people
Lift down the cloths
Aprons run in country
We ain't had enough
Jails yet

This is beautiful

Your from that porcelain city
I'm New York poetry too
Copyright © kevin mathenia | Year Posted 2025

Dedicated to Adrien Brody

Adrien I'm rapping with Rupi
Thank You

Fide et Amore
Irish American Poetry
And Plays
For a Random House
Of Representatives

Currently writing around
Linda Diaz's tip jars


Tip Jars and Squares Poem 1

Mr. Fox
Mr. Rogan
Mr. Tyson

Squares are notes we owe

Mr. Galifianakis tickle the bourbons for it tonight

Set Selection

She spent behind the city
    Haunted veranda of Sicily
Her mother's sister?
       Had she forgotten to write since?
The first daughter away from Italy
       Before her mystery in burdens named as foreign

The behaviour paused and absent faces
     The mimes of her part
Spoke finish of him in passing

I am foreign

She beguiles the pages from after I've relented
Traitor of soil

Today the geese wain
    Her gathering, florescent hateful summers
Defiance of shelter
    Mooring my vessels in war
Grand questions of my ability to remain

Remaking our affairs
  Her story?
      Mute

Ink, mine

Sands hunt up a clarinet

Paris, love, I'm putting together sheets as we go

We come from different corners of Santa Barbara Jazz
Time gives itself to us