Prayer After Iconoclasm
Blessed are the bones, the scaffold
that holds, seed set in the depth
of the mouth, waiting to sprout
in the slippery dark.
Poems, Young Poets
False Spring
On one of February’s false springs,
I hike to the creek near my house,
Searching for mica, pottery, and shells.
A Family Matter
Of course, when my mother asked /
that I give my wife a kiss for her, I did so, /
telling my wife, I am my mother, kissing you.
Eve’s Protest
Men insist I shouldn’t use my body to conquer
them when men have been using me
to look at loneliness less directly.
I Dreamed of Hendrix
The white ones unwarranted,
hardly a one cared much for
a colored lad with long locks,
greedy for the guitar and
assorted girls, especially
during that goddamn War.