Poetry

We didn’t pray.
But we knelt
in so many rooms,
in so many versions
of what we thought
touch could mean.

from the dome-shaped brain of "I see" 
to the room opposing history, all against all
from the crimson-purple reflected in evening clouds 
to a series of motionless gods who seem almost ashamed 

I look to the blue
tight as a drum
heavy vultures slipping forward
circling over death

how
to
draw
in
the
emptiness

Fellowship there is:
lending naloxone 
to a stranger in need,
sharing ice cream 
as sustenance,
living together -

in order to determine whether it was really a comet 
those men saw streaking across the sky
an imaginary society based solely upon 
your collective incoherent scribbles

When, in the absolute menace of living
I sob on the pillows of aborted godmothers
Who cry for the right to die by attrition
Using any & all unlawful meanings necessary

and there I was thinking
la migra skipped my neighborhood because
of divine intervention or something;
such good luck
for my sweet neighbors