April 11

say you can see the sign
better than the letters
but you could sign your name
to the sidewalk before the zombie
exam came and took your damn
number from you
took your family’s courtroom drama
formed the four o’clock hour
and handed it to the fuzzy mob
treading off the distance
between what hunger is gamed
and what game can be coughed
and chanted, changed into talk.

it’s spring again and all
that blooms
is not friendship. there’s
intention and what floridians
call the surface of available
scorn taken from the very staff
and rod steadied footstep
of the healed. slop in the soup
of letters. if you’re well
enough to drop a spoon, please
read the bottom line without
slurring. i’ll
be eying up the squirrels
from a window, my sight line
obscured – the distant mob
distinctly singing a visionary
song. if you could read this
from where you are, you’re
probably fine.


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