A mausoleum of pain
sealed for perpetuity
hidden behind the eyes
in chains of DNA burn the slow after effects fueled by  choices made in ignorance

Once upon the road
of infamy , in the footsteps made in sacred dust , millions of years beyond and older than the thirst for knowledge that you choke on . . . you've become consumed in flames ; illumimating the path before you as you go , so you don't stumble over the errors of the past and fall into the future upon the stakes of fallacy

I was born in Selma
My younger sister ,
Wichita Falls ,Texas
The oldest sister in Orlando
My only brother in Spokane , Washington

There was always a distance between the members of the family

Lightyears reflected in our eyes . With no tears spread .

Nor no affection for the
place of the dead

Now I write about the past
For there is not much future ahead

From Texas dust , to the clover fields of Alabama ,  to the mountains of Washington , the seas of Florida , and Birmingham

As a child I slept at night in the back window of the Plymouth from Texas to Selma with the thump of my heart for company

I thought it was the monster taking one step at a time following me to Selma to **** me

Now I know when I hear no more footsteps he has found me

It takes me
perhaps a few minutes,
at most,
to write a poem.

In the brief instant
between
creation and publication,
I am convinced
that this poem cannot be
improved.

But note,
it is never the claim,
that the poem is
any good.

I write
so that I may express
what I had genuinely felt
for a few moments.