Poem 49

There's jerk in the sound if final game smokejumper haloes remember
We have never been to the Utah dime stores.
I walk wield a window wool scarf
It sheds theism like a duck sheds water.

There can bend now trees out of the agenda forest,
They will clamor for the disk and the thumb drive brain song
But they will never find us alone and harmed again.
We was armed before they alarmed us to their charms.

I bring shotguns to make peace with the element
I bring south funds to make peace for the enemy,
I bring shotgun medicine for the enemy to be cured on.

poem 48

Plus sized raven eyes spied me from high above

the world clocks face.

i was cutting time in tune to rhyme crimes

left in the dirt of my underused youth.

i curled an ode into a fist and hurt myself

getting out of bed.

three commas harassed my prom queen dream scheme

until the seams split, revealing gleaming metal teeth.

grammar will always fuck you, that way.