(in a stream of consciousness, in threes.)

Dirt road
Shanty home and
Second hand clothes like

coming up with nothing makes a person feel like anything is possible, like

I could be the only Disney princess with a body bathed in dust,
head adorned with a little crown of purple flowers,
belly full of bologna and white bread or
Pepsi in a can,
sometimes even both.

You know the flowers, they grow low to the ground with a root system that is a map to China-
the ones that stink of something bitter and throw off goat heads in the spring.

Shouting as a love language
Drinking as a therapist and
Drugs as everyone’s favorite final straw, like

Dad got picked up again for pissing in the streets and his face will always be to me a bloodshot sneer of tears ever in the well-
a storm to quell and

I don’t recognize him sober,
he don’t recognize me older.

Neighbors high on meth have something special for your daughter,
something that she’s too dumb to know is not love and,

You should be grateful they’re not chasing her with a rusty hammer and a lighter like they do the twenty sacred sons of Maria up the road.

Who never did nothing to no one,
but the desert on this side of the border is a dish that is served cold by the grey-pink hands of blue collar white men and their grimacing ponchy women. Like

the way the frozen dew becomes the scent of dust and stars at the splitting of daybreak over the aubergine hills, which hold the shadows of the clouds like the tattooed names of their churlish ex-lovers.

Compensatory literacy
Eager to love and eager to please
Which is better?
to be used and discarded or disregarded? Like

Can a flash in the pan be likened to a grease fire, or is there a factor by which to discriminate the two?

Does the factor wear a uniform and love the color blue and did that factor pay me $40 for a college entrance essay with his 2.5 GPA? Like

How much weight does a 5 on the AP lit test sway for a kid who got the free lunch tray and will probably just stay in town until it grinds em down like the most common pebbles,
blue and grey? Like

Blue brown or grey are the colors of the living
but needle prick red and casket black can
always be arranged.

Jesus Christ sure blessed this American Dream,
don’t you think?
Move it right along boys, there’s nothing to see, and nothing stinks.
Are you blue son or are you grey?
Cos from here you’re looking a little too pink.

6 thoughts on “Autobiography

  1. hands tied
    behind, blindfolded and bobbing for
    apples in black streams
    ‘neath empty streets: lies
    Utopian sewers
    clean enough
    to eat from

    Bijou, this one (which compelled a few lines from my own SOC) provides much to chew on and would be another great page in the graphic chapbook.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. They never recognize us older. Baloney sandwiches on cold white bread and hand-me-downs I know well. A great SOC piece – reminiscent of John Lennon and Leonard Cohen (boy – that would have been a pair to see together). Keep on – it seems to be a gift of yours.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Hi K.,

    It seems that every so often I say to you, well this is your best one and so here we are again. This poem could come from any number of great poets, well-known, tortured people who somehow got their words recognized. I look upon many of your poems as unnoticed diamonds in some Arkansas or South African field. Maybe the individual words are specks of gold at the bottom of a deep stream and so they lay there shifting around, heading toward the sea. I will take them and adore them in my own way. I think it tremendously sad that more people don’t know about your talent for feelings turned to words. I mean what else is there in this life? Trying to express ourselves, trying to be authentic in the midst of bullshit, surrounded by the phony and the fake, the violent and the deranged. Where are the lovers of our words? Where the fuck are they? Okay, so I am here. One of your lovers. Thanks. Duke

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Waiting a day to reread this poem just to be sure. It is even better on the second day, still great, but better. You have much to be proud of here, if I can use that word. Thanks. Duke

    Liked by 1 person

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