The Violent Space Or When Your Sister Sleeps Around For Money
Exchange in greed the ungraceful signs.
The thick notes between green apple breasts.
Then the shadow of the devil descends,
The violent space cries and angel eyes,
Large and dark, retreat in innocence and in ice. (Run sister run—the Bugga man comes!)The violent space cries silently,
Like you cried wide years
In another space, speckled by the
And the leaves of a green plum tree,
And you were
By a red wasp and we flew home.(Run sister run—the Bugga man comes!)Well, hell, lil sis, wasps still sting.
You are all of seventeen and as alone
In your pain as you were with the
On your brow.
Well, shit. lil sis, here we are:
You and I and this poem.
And what should I do? should I
In the dust and make strange markings on the ground?
Shall I chant a spell to drive the demon away?(Run sister run—the Bugga man comes!)In the beginning you were the Virgin Mary,
And you are the Virgin Mary now.
But somewhere between Nazareth and
You lost your name in the nameless void."O Mary don't you weep don't you moan"O Mary shake your butt to the violent juke,
Absord the demon puke and watch the whites eyes pop,(Run sister run—the Bugga man comes!)And what do I do.
I boil my tears in a twisted
And dance like an angel on the point of a needle.
I sit counting syllables like Midas gold.
I am not bold.
I cannot yet take hold of the
And lift his weight from you black belly,
So I grab the air and sing my song.(But the air cannot stand my singing long.)
Other author posts
He Sees Through Stone
He sees through stonehe has the secreteyes this old black onewho under prison skiessits pressed by the sunagainst the western wallhis pipe between purple gumsthe years falllike overripe plumsbursting red fleshon the dark earthhis time is not my ti...
As You Leave Me
Shiny record albums scattered overthe living room floor, reflecting lightfrom the lamp, sharp reflections that hurtmy eyes as I watch you, squatting among the platters, the beer foam making mustaches on your lips And, too,the shadows on your ...
The Idea Of Ancestry
Taped to the wall of my cell are 47 pictures: 47 black faces: my father, mother, grandmothers (1 dead), grand- fathers (both dead), brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins (1st and 2nd), nieces, and nephews They stare across the space at me...
Vigo County
Beyond the brown Above the silent cedars, Blackbirds flee the April rains