tonight, something a little
stronger than poison
runs through my veins

it festers, intangible,
pretty like belladonna,
sweet like nightshade

it sways in the wind
of my lungs, it has it's
own tune you see.

i know it's a plague,
like him, we've all
been infected once.

tonight, it's angry,
venomous,
gardens of deep rose

and happiness returns
to being but a distant,
wavering sun.

do not open
until
I am born
this love letter
to the unreadable
child
who spoke
for god
to god
in poem
the lesser
pity

do
tell my brother
if he has not
yet

wrapped himself

in police
tape

that lightning
above a snowplow
puts a creature
on the roof

I say blood
marbled floors
and boats
somewhere on the Ganges River
Africa?
no.
wait—I think it’s
sadness
that flows out every hole
onto the plain
into the water
out of the well
all of the elephants swallowed
and digested
down to the bones
on colors
on sky diamonds
on lovely wax and wane
this river
these people
blood and guts
cooking
tradition
knowing
that it’s the last meal
to throw to the gods
in the water

I am physically ******* and
mentally chewing on this factual statement
I release the pent up anger
that I've lingered​ over and
blood​ starts to boil, yet
I'm imbued with a sense of well-being​ which
is like seeing yourself with a knife in your brain
and thinking it's fine so you see it again.

Of necessity and because of my age
any rage is a carefully controlled emotion.

A lifetime,
a pastime?
but now it's time to get real.

I deal from the bottom of the pack,
got to have an edge
but that's harking back to
the bad old days and the
old ways have gone.

Game on.