at the Edge of America
There is a voice in the trees
i can hear it from the asylum window
…
the priest is at odds with himself
about my condition
…
there is a voice in the trees
it hovers just beyond the river’s bend over there.
…
the world is at odds with itself
about situation like this
…
there is a lady in a room of no windows
there is a lady in a room purged of love
…
i am at odds with priests and worlds
…
there is a humming lady,
in a room,
in the trees,
where the river bends,
over there. – T C Cannon
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Dark Room
He had an eye for these things.
But I had the soul.
The art of the moment, wasted with lies.
With all the chatter of aperture and metered light.
Exposures in a dark room.
You, looking for that idyllic covered bridge.
Me, searching for meaning to the words, ‘just live.’
∇
As your dark room comes into contrast with my life.
The question still remains,
‘what of the devil you tried to tame?’
With a generation, come and gone,
I will right your wrong.
Teacher,
with all your attempts to school me…
All your photographed Rockwell ideology…
The shuttering speed of Americana.
All this and more, such great expectations.
Not a single tutored self-portrait.
Yet,
a guild full of
artistic misconduct.
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a Fevered Mind
Petals in the pines…I have come here…once again
with your loving colors for the fevered mind
And, the circling of blackbirds to speak to me of the shape I am in
A little girl’s dream of…
lime and lemon hue
Spinning in the dance under the moon’s harvest
and
the autumn of sun’s riches
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Wonder Woman’s Eraser
the blinds of my mind…lilt
a storied plot of disconnect and bad vertical holds fresh with scant static
I interviewed, repeatedly…the main character on merits
on fishbowl houses
and
smiling goldfish with one shoe
…
I keep coming back to these indoor graveyards
scrutinizing testimonials from dead poets
at graffiti’s basement of cheap thrills
stirring up banshee’s with last centuries news
…
I have lit this vigilant firecracker so often just to watch it explode
someone else
anyone else
would have taken a powder by now
but this actor, this skinny cow reminds me
overturned stones eventually turn cold
…
I will come back at least three times more
first, with a left hand cane to pry open all the good that remains
second, with a stronger back to carry a weighty blind frog
third, with Wonder Woman’s eraser to remove my name
