A poem inspired by Khadijah Queen’s 2014 Naropa SWP Workshop at the Jack Kerouac School Of Disembodied Poetics.

Red Liniage

My name is string tying the hawk’s legs red.

My mother’s name is springtime in a land where she wasn’t born red.

My father’s name is pencil markings of the bombs red.

My sister’s name is lovely flower red.

My brother’s name is unstoppable fission red.

My grandmother’s name is sorrow on a soft wind red.

I come from a people known for bootlegging, broken cathedrals, and long voyages across the sea.

Remember me.

(Waking up)

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to.

Fine. Whatever.

Nope.

Not for anybody.

Dammit feed the cats.

Get up.

Get up.

Get up.

Trinity in the first scene from The Matrix GET UP

Nope.

*

Maybe autobiographical. Maybe confessional. Am I still in bed?

Damn I’ve missed more than a few days! That’s what happens when you take a road trip and spend the weekend with your best friends.

In the diner

I laugh and

the TV tells me not to.

*

Note: Sunday morning I ate pancakes. I shouldn’t have (IBS). But they were delicious.

(Car)

Road

Gravel

Sweat

Dirt

(Bones: food/victim/punishment)

Swamp Sludge Mountain Crust River Fingers Reaching

Down

Down

Down

Lava

Up

Up

Up

Reaching Fingers River Crust Mountain Swamp Sludge

You Are Here

(Bones: punishment/victim/food)

Dirt

Sweat

Gravel

Road

(Car)

*

Note: Didn’t get around to writing a micropoem for yesterday (gasp!) because I was driving all day to go see Mr. J (hooray!) I drafted this poem in my head while I was driving. For those of you not familiar with my work, I write weird poems about roads and roadkill. Long car rides across state lines are always inspiring.

Note x2: It’s a little longer than a “traditional” micropoem.