Not The Rockefellers

someone tell the night there’s a hole in its pocket & all the tomcats are squabbling through the scraps

take small bites no bigger than an apostrophe  savor them well

if you fell all tangled up by my side i wouldn’t sic the dogs out i’d let you cry til you wrung yourself out bone dry

born wednesday noon night before the fire both of us conceived behind gabriel’s garage corner of elm and pine

my country  she knit her bones  underground  far below the hammer strike untouched by chisels my country  her heart & lungs born from ore  dug out raw pure claw & tooth

mix it up throw it down grind it into something  worthy OWN that investment  invent your magic  here ______________ scream your name

You gotta jiggle that handle wait  for  Godot  Pat the tiger's empty belly tin drums  pan flutes Were you in the market for cheese? forgotten  bread? Don't mind the burning circus smell they're gone well done