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A WORLD FAMOUS POET

TODAY'S POEM
ALSO the OTHERS

I think good things

11/3/2019

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I think good things come from the south
unimpeded by my demands about what is necessary
or what will serve.
The river delta is in the south.
I feel its urge,
impossibly ascending from subterranean origins.
I place obstacles in the way
but the river is a strong god. You
will never coerce the river.
In its brown water, something
brushes against us, a branch, 
or was it living? It is gone.
The river takes everything.


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When you know something

11/3/2019

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​you just know it
no one can tell you otherwise.

I know
I hit my little sister in the face with a rock
and knocked her out when she was six.

I was there
threw the rock across the backyard
watched her crumple like a ragdoll
thrilled at the definition of a parabola
nearly visible in midair
against the backdrop of birch forest.

I can't prove it.
But I know it happened.
Memory at best is an echo which
repeated long enough
becomes knowledge.

Is my witness alone sufficient?
You say you know Jesus.
Just . . . you know.
You can't prove that any more
than I can prove I knocked
my little sister the fuck out with a rock.
I declare it on my authority.
I am the proof of my witness.

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Many times says the wife I fall

11/3/2019

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​down the stairs hoping to get
your attention and you give me only broken ankles

What are you saying says the man

I have over fifty seven broken ankles my toes are not
much better off and my femur reeks of gangrene

Are you saying I push you down the stairs because I do
not love you the way I love a hot cabbage says the man

I am saying that I am killing myself for your love and all
you do is sniff your fingers

The stairs are draped in clothing says the man

Did I mention my knees are shattered because you do not love me and I smashed my face at the bottom

Please please I am trying to think says the man

Oh now it is your problem says the wife I am tying this
tourniquet and leaving you

Must you make so much noise when you walk screams
the man your insides rattle like a bag of broken glass

When I am gone your mouth will open and no one will
boil your oats

Must you must you must you go on says the man can't
you see I'm eating


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    Poems from Other Days

    September 2021
    July 2021
    September 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020
    November 2019
    July 2019
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