I dreamed I lay me down to sleep
And did not rise again;
Whatever tears my lovers wept
They watered me like rain.
I was a garden, in my bed--
I melted into earth
While all the loves I ever had
Crawled through me like white worms,
And all the loves I ever loved
Sprang up, like seeds to sun,
Alive, unlost, though I forgot
Their names as I dissolved.
Blessed are the poor in spirit
or maybe that's just the poor
i need more spirit, that's for sure
i don't feel blessed
i'm not the best
at love. Ineffective,
recursive. I sit
like slick
black grease. Greed,
or grief. I need
less of myself, more
spirit. Sipping spoons
of my own sins--no prophet,
I meant
to sing you songs,
not this lament
of middle age
unwomanhood, ungrown
to fruitfulness,
curling the same sour leaves.
Bees leave my flowers alone,
they don't taste sweet.
Escapist, weak willed, it's soap in my throat,
acid bitter, acedia
medication
mental masturbation
shame's as good as any reason
to turn away from all this
shit--
Good God, the self pity
was bad enough at eight, at twelve, sixteen
At thirty it's obscene
as a newborn crowning, streaked
with chalky grease, red and white
helpless, sinless, hungry
to gape for suck and wail.
Will you, God, mother us
at your own breast
when we so streaked and shameless scream?
Will you, till we rest?
clouds, teased out and soft
against the sky, like cotton
or white wool, unspooled
may days unwind warm,
unhurried. Promise summer,
someday, soon
soon we will sweat and
shine, heat greased and gleaming, flushed
pink, unfolding freckles
february's seeds
unfolded now, brown specks broken
into new green leaves
green, and more green. May
breathes thick with it. Air crammed
with pollen and plant breath
always, the assault:
no tender prickle at eye
and throat, these seeds have teeth
red throat lizard, bright
red bird, roses unfolded
loose as cups, as clouds
some may days the blue
blue sky
blooms with its loose, its tender clouds
Can't get back my baby
No matter what I do
I can't get back my baby
No matter what I try to do
Whole world full of children shining
All I want is you
Fed my baby peanut butter
Fed my baby rice and beans
Can't put meat on the table
Can't grow backyard greens
Fed my baby peanut butter
Bills past due again
Want to burn that goddamn schoolhouse
Want to burn it to the ground
all those broken window schools
Just want to burn them down
Want to pack up all my babies
And leave this goddamn town
Five dollar bottle
couple gram of weed
Gonna buy myself a bottle
and a little bag of weed
I might as well buy something
I can't get what I need
Look at all the pretty babies
In their worn out tennis shoes
Look at all the pretty babies
Makes you want to sing the blues
Whole world full of children
All I want is you
I can't get back my baby
No matter what I do
I said I can't get back my baby
Baby
No matter what I do
We all like foxes snap and bite at scraps,
the shreds left on the bones, that stink
gnaw our trapped legs--
welcome the sharp shred of our own teeth
the pain we choose--a little breath
perhaps, away
from where we're spitted
with unchosen teeth
We spit and hiss behind our little teeth,
we nip and snap, we spit
We all like little foxes snap and bite
We run, burned from our dens, by dried wheat set alight--
our little holes, our little stinking dens,
our dark and bone filled burrows.
Like little frightened foxes meet our little ends.
Little sprigs push up through
dirt, hopeful, though nights bite
still, with hurtful chill.
Will these brave green threads
stretch root enough to weather
through to warmer days?
Once overbold, early
cilantro sprouts shrink down
again, chill-chastened.
I plant and replant,
hoping this batch, this time, will
last till green. Grow strong!
Poor system: to seed
but not to cherish. Little
sprouts neglected droop.
No salad spring, no
summer squash. Hope untended
yields no fruit but rot.
Garden hungry, I
have, bare handed, torn roots
of trees from clinging dirt.
Every year my plots
packed with good soil and seeds
sprout strong, joyful weeds.
I will be gardener
for insects. Spiders, squash bugs,
wasps, and worms: welcome.
I'd bury myself
in sweet dirt, if I could, smell
the sun draw me up in leaves.
