we write lists of wants&needs after Kerouac essentials
Harlem angels sing discordant notes of neon decay
what is said here, stays here
almost all the time
read the fine print
what other rules shall we [br]ake
when it comes to names
“address the teacher by Ms. something”
I Ms. something about you
the way you took my silences for meals
swallowing each sigh after longinhale
sweet honey drops salt tonguetip rosebuds clench
flowers, tufts of grass Om chants
I pulled a handkerchief from thin air, poured holy water over the plaque
dark spots cut the synapse
create a pattern… where’d you come from? San Francisco.
where’d you come from? San Francisco.
I swept the dead leaves away from names
we placed her here inbetween two hearts
there is a clench
these words are strictly
jaw clenched grind tooth in skull
memory speaks fondly of growing up over the dead
speaking in tongues visiting ghosts
before three years
after three years
*Lyon* wants to run
runawayhome before home is no longer—warm open cavernous (w)hole—before home is too cold to bear—Lyon’s roar shakes inside indigo.
and why do mothers take the brunt end of time
watching babies nestle spoonfed golden ticket dreams disappear
who will read to the child when mother will not? cannot.
and even if they never remember in this lifetime
ms. can remember a lifetime ago when home froze
heart rose out of chest screaming
beat me down
THE RETURN TO ROOTS
we forget to let go jaw clenched
dreams only reveal struggle
how to lists: forgive yourself… forgive those who raised us
the grands, the greats, and greatgreatgreatgreats
I can breathe into my heart
center those memories of heart wrenching tears
as though we can feel the knife slicing bare pink
I can look them in the eyes and have compassion
can you teach compassion to those who lose their way?
HOW TO TEAR OUT A HOOK
call it out: yellow—a golden rod fade
proceed to verify your hunch
one step below heart
reach right in
aware and yet. not. mindful of mind control.
“I don’t think anymore”
smiles since the voices left
gradually come back
mother shouts “schizophrenic”
when will the words melt off the page? when will the text lift up and re-arrange itself?