an abstract
we are so dark in this place. i chew a rubber hose until it breaks into another
piece. the way she leaves a room
pages of ripped poems. pages of ripped poems
i remember your wet hands. 5:30 barn lights,
watercans & rosebush
i will never stop. i love to cut grass. do you hear this
it was july, thank god
i go into a field of flower bushes with my dad’s car
i drive the car onto them. dust rises into the
mirrors, i look
at the side
of my dad’s car. sky blue paint
job,
chrome hub caps, i turn off the car.
i’m near to a wood shack that has a sheet metal
roof. a bird
flies onto the hood of my dad’s car.
this is georgia summer i can’t believe it, 1997.
