stuck

glued feathers on these arms

with scabby blood flying

better than i did

you tell me

that you know how to close

the open wound of the sky

where nothing is home

by recalling the language lost

when my mother cooed her belly

with the sanded down statement that

i may be here now

with you

weeping

but i am also going to be the future

a great poet with love on the move

with that warm spreading between your toes

which only water has ever known

with unknowing now back with you

where i am told that each star against the dripping black

is actually just a bullet hole

from some stray gun that would’ve preferred

to be bent into a cup or crutches

made for the victims who’ll always come

the amputees who may not

when the walk is too long to get here

where you still are

clumped

and leaving this

fall

*

above is from a book of poetry i’ve written, entitled “a mess of you everywhere inside of me“.

it is for you. it is about you. it will tell you how to be you again. get a copy here: https://goo.gl/zsyqVD