weeds

there’s a kid down on the street screaming just to hear himself scream

and mary louise parker has darker eyes than most

muscles in her shoulder
grit in my teeth
most of us arching our backs when we get baptized
mouths moving a bit but no words coming

if you let me I’d slump my shoulders
I’d be able to remember how it felt
it’s there, a minute or two into a moan
and you’re thinking…
but this morning I walked all the way to the train

tonight I walked all the way home
signifying tremors
little bits of me all night

and mary, she’s amazing
little bits of her racing in the streets
just like bruce
prove it all night

then I remember that I contain hard parts
teeth
the back of my head contending with wood
the socks that come off every night
every wounding walk home
the way you’d have me give in
but I’m not going to sell myself that way

“no sandman”, you could say

hard rib missing
it drove up six avenue to the 7/11 store by duarte road
stoners were outside doing bike tricks
tricks are a way of saying
but neither of them, rib or stone, knew what,
or which, but the slurpee got bought
rib back in his truck
windows lowered
t-shirt and shorts
an empty cooler on the passenger seat
where words, rib’s words, find their way inside
from hot to cold and a cassette tape slipping in in the stereo