The nails of an honest masculine hand come
to grip beer in a bag with porcelain figure mentality
that others smash across the head
of a beating body, it’s so impatient of me to lethal
and legitimize alone time in your closet
where the evidence is flushed, fondled,
marveled at in cruel fashion & turned into sculpture
for therapeutic benefits. Hush the blind finger
bandit in that drunken abyss,
I also made some found poems from
Hurricane Katrina because I really just copied down
a few quotation marks and broke them into lines
that abuse the sterile use of deadly events,
minor or major moments American
in peril and complete nudity on the big ticket,
a special economic zone that compounds
a personal basis for our spirit animal shapes
to cash in on when you finally come to recognize
the ways in which you pretend and exist on
the same plane, where the remaining us lie to sleep.
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