From the 2019 Collection "2222"
#222 #2222 #comedy #existential #jmartindean
I wept at the sight of my guru’s picture, Praise God, He is always with me, a Holy thing,
This day, there is no ONE to beat your fist… No party, no tyrant, not even a faction—
I would lie with my hand on the B… I would lie with my hand on a stac… of Holy Qurans. I would look you dead-in-the-eye, and tell you a lie.
The choir of the saints is heartle… They’ve parried happiness a lifeti… seeking only the old earth, the marsh of the meek— where earnest suffering
To be a ghost is to always be aghast— To not know which direction is the future or the past.
She lives no where, has no coordinates, she took me to the gallows, tempted me in the garden and my voice boomed.
I have this sensation when remembering the poignant noteworthy moments, Lovers, the Dead, crimes—
The Rock made me to see each month as a day. The Rock implored that I be patie… with a patience so radical it slips into renunciation
Two onyxes atop another out where the witch frolics, the signal clear, it rang through my throat so loudly I frightened myself:
I remember being unmoved at more than one funeral at more than one memorial looking about impatiently impervious to the cries of the cry…
Every once in a while, when my bunkmates are asleep (or at least I hope they are), and the jingle of the keys fades to the end of the hall,
Finally alone, I lie with a volum… I venture again to hear the injunc… normally I savor their sensitivity… but tonight all I can think about
Upon that special mound there is a cleanliness, a purity sanctimonious, something so perfect it’s numerological—
When I see the little holes where the earrings used to be I wonder what they embraced and then renounced to get to now.
Mojave Desert crushed cars stacked six, seven, ten tall. From the junkyard juts a billboard: