As It Was

Living must be

A constant cleaning of the crimes in the outermost corners of outbuildings on the back forty of whatever land we’re fortunate to shepherd

A diligent organizing of each and every backshelf, closet, drawer, and centerpiece of these blessed bodies of truth we call Home Sweet Home

An earnest sweeping of matter that ultimately, doesn’t matter, but made its way to the front stoop and attempted to exert squatter’s rights

An eventual Welcome sign placed humbly, breathlessly, on each door we’re otherwise prone to leave sealed up tight, that we would embrace again

Creation must be

An Open Letter To Mr. Right

My eyes were just too at ease for your world
No trace in them of repressed anxiety from years of being misunderstood by PTA moms and pain from a father who’d abandoned
No frames of deep stress lines ’round these green babies from a lifetime of striving to live up to my ugly, outspoken, simple-minded momma’s expectations
Of your need to pity me, I had no need, I gave no fuck
Without this, Mr. Right, to hand me your hand, to gift me your name — an impossibility!

My eyes were just too at ease for your ego
Did I, wanting your sugar but not a Superman or Sugardaddy strike some fear somewhere in your heart
Did my complex, uncomplicatedness confuse the machine soul in you
Of your need to out speak me, I had no enmity, I gave no thought
Without a shred of me in need of saving, you pissed yourself and ran

Moment Lovers

Step one, get weird with it. This belongs to you all, after all.

Step two, present yourselves all ways, every day, at the same time.

Step five, step five?! Yes, step five — there’s nothing linear or logical of this.

Step five, show the canvas of man what these years of kinship mean.

Step six, dip your brush in cool, cool water, then choose the color violet. Or orchid, because you are bold, or you want to be.

Step three, make a space in advance, or in the moment, or not at all. The whole Earth was prepared for you.

Step four, never end before you’ve finished, or for forever, whichever comes first. Last.

Step seven, relay your love for The All of them. Take responsibility and fight again tomorrow with the sunrise.

Hot Breath

Canine king, find me, follow me

Whether dinnertime or downtime
Hot breath on my heels
Chops pressed ‘gainst my calf

Clickety-clacking claws, be unwilling to leave me be

Guard my steps, as I’m prone to frolic with frogs
Looking in wrong places for princes

No sixth-sense nonsense, your love

Brother Blend

Coffee, simple coffee

I do not ask for more

Not a finer blend than my nemesis
Nor a larger cup than my neighbor

I can cultivate the fruit on my own
If the sun is not stolen away

I can create a rich roast to crush
If my body is not relegated

Conversations we could have
My brother

Would I pour for you
Would you pour for me

Would we meet for coffee each day