Fractured Stain, My Teeth, My Teeth

Poise in Severance

Putteth Mercy

Lint Murders

Broken Stretch

As the World Burns

You look like a fucking idiot with that mask on, he said.
You just look like a fucking idiot, I told him.

I'm Third Generation Ghetto on my Dad's side. He saidt.

My Brain makes beautiful things when I'm not thinking

Rotting Stare

See You Prime

The Hummingbird Dress

We make the soil, we cultivate while fighting rabbits.
My champion tomato, an indeterminate plant. I wear the red dress to be buzzed by Hummingbirds.

Water Walker

A haphazard draw of memory

I see your Teeth

The Mourning of Despair

Learned Escape

I was a Cook for The Black Panthers Party Free Breakfast Program

1972-73. My first year of college. I resided in Soulard on Geyer with three friends/roommates.
I'd been volunteering for four years. I coordinated a food co-op when I was 19 in Midtown on Folsom. Prior to that I was volunteering at KDNA radio on Olive.
St Stephen's CHurch in the Darst-Peabody-Webbe Housing Project housed the BPPs program.
The connected school had a cafeteria. I was a cook for many months.
The mission of the program was to provide school age (and younger) children with hot meals prior to school.
Tired looking mothers would arrive with their children at 7 am.
I cooked scrambled eggs. Oats. Pancakes. I served the food.
I had three objections.
1: I had been recruited to volunteer by a woman who was a student at WU. She would pick me up in her Saab since I didn't own a car.
I was embarrassed to exit her car in D-P-W.
2: It was obvious the mothers were also hungry. They stared at the food. When I mentioned this to the Saab woman she told me they weren't allowed to have any food. I regret not arguing this point.
3: The Saab woman would read The BPP paper out loud to the mothers. I cringed in embarrassment when I realized she assumed they were all illiterate.

I was thinking about several life events this morning as I mentally reviewed the horror of the 60s/70s.

The End

The evening lurched against me, dropped, and pooled at my ankles.
This is inky business. Sometimes so crushed we don't know we are in pain.
Drenched with night as I listened to a woman pretend she will continue. Broken with terror. My teeth just gritty.
She extends her empty hands and I understand her. We were both drafts.
She was never meant to be. And now. Here.
She/Who loved me.
Said. You/Who are the original. (see/who, she/who was proud of She/Me.
Almost eved at multiples. It was She/Who. Gave heart, ate heart, shattered.
What's in my/me heart I/me didn't put there.
Who/She knows that my/mine sister knows. Ask. She/Who too broken with teeth,grit.

I was skating in a memory will listening to The End by the first Goth Band, The Doors.

We don't need your stinkin' help said rabbits.

That sunrise last week.

It made the red brick glow pink.