Steam and Vapors
Sometimes I forget
this is my promise land.
I hate spring in Kansas City.
It’s always five am
and the birds are screaming,
The rain is grey--
my dreams are full of storms
I look at the white, faceless air
and I doubt.
In the midst of two or three
It's the mist I can't see,
Not the white shrift floating by,
but a shift in the reason and why--
How to find light for dark sight
or a light load for a heavy one
that’s the real milk I need the most.
Give me a teaspoon of truth
each day, no more, it’s
sticky sweetness to fatten my shadow,
wasting away on a diet of lies.
You know, it’s crowded in here.
There are too many ghosts.
Would everyone who is not me,
Hear me shout!
No more vapors, only me
published in my book Kinlight: Homegrown Poems, 2017