Jackson

Feeling so lost, you use a tribal name, to attract somehow your scattered family, regain your buried culture. I have my little signatures, tribal marks, to signal somehow my scattered fellows, recover my hidden kin. Occasionally they find me, allow their tribal scars to sense somehow these frayed links, uncover these blurred sensibilities. Are we… Read more

You look like you’ve had it. Want a beer? Beer! Hah! How about some heroin? You’re not serious. Oh yes—some heroin would be lovely just now. Right into this arm here. I’d thrill to the fear of the strap and the needle. And to hell with the consequences! It’s a good thing we haven’t got… Read more

Thank you for the versions, the visions, the voices, fiddles, drums, electric guitars in my head, and the chanting, the wailing, translations of ashes and orchids and terrified cities. Thank you for rinsing me. Thank you for unmasking me, washing and anointing me, in cloth-of-love clothing me, filling my dark church with candles. Thank you… Read more

Your face of … everything. Hands: plain strength. Your houseful of angels        elbows and angles        feet in their cases        in all the wrong places Your boot on my heart, squeezing out blood        blood onto the page        blood into the world        blood all over the place Your mouth on my… Read more

Storm Sing songs: sweet bells in the night        the blackbird and the kite        the tree-ghosts in the white        the storm and the morning light        dark and light        black and white        string and kite all afternoon, all night. Sight Night is where we are.        Kite is what we are,… Read more