is it possible
to perform the role
of poet
without tension?

if it is
i’m not only limp
but also
talentless

need my life
be filled with
strife
to create?

maybe i’m
committed
to toxic
relationships

spy that on the ground
—name it—
what is the thing bringing
the chorus of a chimeric people
marching as one organ
to the khaki doorstep
to object
reject
the federal boots trodding
upon our sidewalks engraved with poetry?

[1/2]

there it is again
the damned thing
i thought i left
discarded in the dusty bramble
of the highway median
in a forgotten memory
(or one i bribed the board
to forget — the check didn’t cash)
and there it is again
the damned thing
surging through the rearview mirror

[1/3]

extend a morsel of grace
or a thimbleful of oil
to the beleaguered cog
clicking busily
in revolutions it cannot comprehend
but dedicated enough to
the business of being
that amidst its work
it forgot how to squeak valiantly
with a steel throat choked with rust
[1/2]

ageless wart,
what is the prescription
for your prescription?
the salve for your salve?
what is the root of your root
and why peel my heel?
why live the lifestyle of a
cave mushroom?
were you still festering
when babylon fell?
what tales can you tell
of the spells and hexes
[1/2]