She’s brought to life a spurned wife’s tale
For tears, he was who I was. He can’t show that I was a road to bear,
shook up with more nights, every new fraction
He may roll back into office, so weak the opposition,
yet there’s some solace that his highest achievement—
can he do worse? – has been undercut by deception
As new buildings came on, the number of millionaires fell.
A member of the silent majority left the office, got the message.
The city of big shoulders, the balance will be tipped,
spiral of violence, sound minds simply misbehaving
occasional suffer-no-fools blunt-
ness. Playing against such
refinement were a boyish
appearance and a jerky style of
delivery that suggested a mild/case of hiccups
Now that. Now that I. Now that I can know.
Now that I can know nothing intimately, intricately,
the rest of everything, the best of, trickles away.
I cannot believe my hand just said that, shadow
following pen between my hand and the page.
I cannot believe my hand. Who’s listening anyway?
That was the difference, keeping the skulls of the dead
and marking them. His healthy forest mission: they
want the big trees before the California sun rise. To love
is beautiful but for the rest of us, whose body are we
working on? Its ruins have been left standing, the wrong
chair, the wrong shoes. I don’t have to prove anything, I
came here for an execution, shot in the heart where I grew up