Poetry

all tough,
high-fiving,
talking about bitches
and how they are going to
tear Bourbon Street up dawg!

I know I will not commit suicide
because the world all wants me to die and
I hate the world more than it could
ever make me suffer

A gentle snow flurry
covers footprints on a Sunday
open-air market
in the shadow of the church.
 
The sirens subside.

Pornographers’ rights take precedence over parents giving. malevolent have free rein to prey on our children. Walls keep God away from schools, but can’t lock up pushers, thieves and murderers

Jesus Christ said to love them
back, but oh, Messiah, it’s hard.
Let the waves of mirth break 
upon your breast; the ground will 
quake—and swallow 

 I'm sure that, after being

 cataclysmically submerged in water,

 any broken mountain

 becomes a memory of an unknown

Done with smoke, done with shatter, the shamed lead the shameful to the shore, with its boats of bones, ships of shadows, blind seers, and dead crews bending to oars.

It was a freezing day.  I mentioned something about the cold, when the uncle suddenly turned angry.  Loudly berating my comment, calling it unnecessary.

At the blood-draw, in the dentist's chair

and during similar situations,

I think about my premature daughter,

the first time I saw her,