From the 2018 Collection "The Dead Dog Parish"
#anger #deaddogparish #guns #jmartindean #sadness
This day, there is no ONE to beat your fist… No party, no tyrant, not even a faction—
Incense thick with a scent that is true and a bit soiled and dense so dense I lift
Forget shoplifting, not pushing your cart back to the cart-corral is the true crime. Amazing,
Are we in the field or on the field? When I soar for the disc I wonder how that cloud got its shape.
You can get better, or you can get worse, or you can stay the same. But you can’t change. Nope!
A tide of blood, miniature in compare— But an ocean no less, to the virus in there.
Walking lakeside, I try to discern what the frogs a… but their drone is one collective… Diving again and again after the secret,
When I see the little holes where the earrings used to be I wonder what they embraced and then renounced to get to now.
Like a Somali pirate just pull up on the Grim Reaper, surprise him
Therein are the spoils of sorrow, the fruit of hardship, where wind snaps and prevails. Death whispers a hollow secret and I still a shiver
Formulate an agenda Make friends. Label enemies. Identify beliefs. Re-examine.
I once found in what appeared to be cistern carved within a boulder, an owl’s wing,
Hollow fang? Volcano. Cat’s purr? Hymnals. Intuition?
I saw him on the side of the road, on the side of the interstate exit… Maybe he was 18, definitely not 21… tired but not yet haggard. The moment I saw him
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.