it is easier now that I know I was never going to be a better person.  if I once called poetry the grieving arm that ends in five short complaints, I am sorry.  I watch my son lick the space on the table where he’ll put his cheek.  it is not for me to believe he is a sign of warnings to come.  the distant memory of his tongue is not mine to betray.  I want to kiss you to the sound of god counting footfalls on a mountain path.  for one, I have never been completely covered in bruises.  also, I was in the spotlight when my mother was asked to describe a sponge.  instead, she identified the break in the letter where a father changed pens and childhood as the longing of Eve.

I am in search of that poem
I got that moment
I got that pencil
I got that paper
But where is that eraser
To find the right poem
From all those prose
I have written with my life

the land very well of my tongue but I was asked to know the tongue of my land in the tongue of my land.  doc the veterinarian hired me anyway.  I was to myself in the dog cages and in their runs I would kneel and let the hose seize with water.  I was to myself in the sick and brick room fearful the slow cat would rent with its curl my stomach.  I was to myself when the parrot so parrot told me in so many words separated partially its upper bill on purpose.  was I dumped the dogs full asleep and half from a wheelbarrow into a pit and I in trouble doing it when we were busy.  was I would basket my arms upside down above three dogs a day at most while the needle made sometimes the back of my hand and somehow on that four dog day my chin such that it got me my funny talk and fired and I had to tell my home early dad.

Alone in a room
A comforting thought.
When outside open, flailing
It is the only thing you want.

But when inside the covers
You feel only dread.
Taunting thoughts tease
Dancing in your head.

You jump back in the waters
Helpless and Scared.
Imaginary sharks nip at your organs
You feel a pierce at every glare.

The pain is never temporary
It follows in your sleep.
Every breathe you take
Is a hopeless cry, a never ending weep.

You eat peoples words
A poison sent from hell.
Digestions through intestines
Another soul to sell.

Alone, away, together
With this new order
You never want to feel
As a person in disorder.

-e.m

Setting up the display took me all night. I had to get every single firework just right. Covering them with a tarp to keep them from getting wet, from the possible rain storm or an unruly pet. Nearing the zero hour, so close to midnight. That's when it all went bad from a single cigarette I think . We suppose Grand Maw was the culprit, but we can't be sure just yet. What a spectacular display it was though not how I had planned, but the trailer park will never forget the fireworks New Years night. When they started in the middle and blew things out of sight. First the Roman candles fired off out of sync, they hit howling **** dogs and cans of gasoline. Then bottle rockets chased away chickens and stray cats, in a patriotic salute, can you imagine that. Then the middle came but it was supposed to be last. The largest firework missile took off with a blast, but instead of launching into the sky, it turned left at the stop sign and hung in the power lines. The arcing and the sparking was quiet a sight. So many random sparks that it set the rest of the fireworks alight. So in no particular order they all fired off. What an uncoordinated mess some of you might scoff, but it made everybody come awake, and what wonderful coverage we all did get. We are now famous on YouTube and the views haven't stopped coming yet. So in a blaze of glory went my fireworks display. The volunteer fire department were still putting out the flames on New Years day. So when next year comes if I am out of jail, no more fire works will I attempt to display. I will just watch football and drink a few beers to celebrate New Years day.