He swung from the garage, like some strange racist fruit,
all swollen ankles and kiddie shoes. Red roses are for the deaf, whiffs of
perfume, nothing but lavender and dreams of
watermelons and groves.
He swung from the garage like Bradley Cooper,
cross-eyed. Vomit and urns and tears for
the oil, for the grass. I will always love you.
My face became the moon in procession, and
I leaned into my loneliness. I sang Black Star and became
warrior big wing. I knew our spirit starves until
the dead have been subdued.
I ride a mangled bike, tote a rifle.
I board a train full of catfish on fire.
A line from the poem FEUD by Thomas Roethke was used in this poem.