The Mouth of the River of Death

chaffed, flogged, and veined with hurt
this rooftop
laid in cardinal directions
and raven shit
burns each day in the sun

the supine posture of humanity's mark
leering into mists of ozone and nitrogen
shining in spectra we don't see
the imported SUVs parked in
mobile malls and cuddle factories pant
and suck the migrant dust spiral
curling out the talk cavity of a West African lady named
the Seasons

Rattled Loose and Waving

i'm in the turbulence brother
unsure i can hold the ends of these paths
what frays us all like this, at each other's edges?
a madness of Wanting Better and so trading our sight,
devoted to juggling fire and bent
on adding knives