poems

“fourth of july”

a salesman’s best 

who doesn’t know

what they’re selling

and a thief’s best

to pay double in

somebody else’s money

i wish they still

shot off fireworks

in the countryside

like they used to

i wish for so many 

things, but all i’ve

got’s a ghost in 

the passenger seat

who told me two

years ago tonight

that i’d better do

something criminal

or else put a good

crook’s eye to waste

but i stole more than

just candy and 

keys; i stole my 

voice, my thoughts,

my poems; i stole

the very skin i live in

and i’ll drive this

stolen car, searching

for fireworks, until i

can call it my own and

forget that I’m lying

but i’m too late for

the party, near midnight;

it’s the fourth of July

and everything’s quiet–

the sky’s fallen into

a great hollow black

and I know now

better than I’ve ever

known that, yes,

everything’s been

stolen; but this time,

it wasn’t me who did it

“let down”

for a moment we both die,

and the road of broken

brother’s keepers lies

like a rabbit shot dead;

give me shelter from the cold

for one more night

while his living spirit 

dances weightless, broken fingers

strum his tearful song

and the words amount to

some hosanna; free me from this

skin and right my wrongs