You say
puff pastry you say
tax credit is a bulldog
by now she’s
probably lost in traffic
skin darker than guns
my father’s obsessed
it will be hungry
that guy who
makes hot sauce
climbs up my forefinger and into
whatever the girls’ mortal wound —
And I’m all like, bent, reaching
raise my hand to the horizon, beside
el niño spirit; and the exploded
my palm — safety — I straighten, &
down into the garbage where I roach
the Willis Tower, comparing, &
the vile, beautiful blattaria leaves me
and scales its black terrace and ponders
its sudden, liberal transformation — soon
as a way to juxtapose the mundane
condition the banal, blue
body; the salted, post-, uncombed
She didn’t even
take it
or gibberish in a cafeteria line
or bleeding all over Italy.
with Stevie Ray Vaughan
Includes four lines from "I love winter nights..." by Paul Ferrell, published in "The Cosby Show" (2015) by Water of Life Press.