I search for the birthmark a fueled man with rifle gave you, a bullet that mistook you as lifeless, magnified your name through the dense tunnel of America without asking for permission, and your chest took him in like an old secret hidden in mattress. The bullet threw his hands up, gave conspirator away in interrogation, made my baby-boy-hate bury love, long before I would get to the real of life, the magic of the sun--now we resume.
I never bought that yellow odious lie from their tongues, claiming you dislodged. Lost to your cause. Daddy, they don't know you.
Don't know I've become your twin, will kill ill words for justice, wish to handle your ears with homonyms, and squeeze you into man-laughter, as you sit next to me now, Dressed to the tee
,
man
. I'm still coughing up cotton in throat, still craving, still seeking like a prophet, looking for sanctuary. I got my stripes honest. It took Mama two fife-times to get one grain of justice, so I know your blood matters, coagulates into a crazy head-spell within me. Daddy ... before you go back ...
I lost my mind for thirty years, blind forever, until today, until this moment. Now let me help you back into the casket. There's still resurrection. Related Results
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