6. After 6 I stay up,
preparing for
early morning classes.
Tea stained teeth greet the mirror.
Smoke greets my lungs,
and I rub the sleep out of my eyes.
I saunter through civilized learning.
I hear again and again the Academy tradition
of manifest Go West, Go Early
Go Fuck yourself.
Blah blah blah blah blah.
7. The world becomes
Call of Duty when your drunk.
The rain, a foreign stab.
The mud, an obstacle course.
When I drink the world
dissolves into Rex, Ga.
A dilapidated porch,
held together by chicken wire.
I’m putting fire crackers
in the old grill again.
8. Three residential
patterns
repeat.
I
see the new kids,
they must see me in a similarly
unfamiliar way.
I am a
vulture.
picking off a home from the failing
housing market.
The
neighborhood
is tempered by the bod, rattling in the rain,
filtered by empty beer bottles.
The
kids spray paint
the siding. They don’t know me well
enough to know what racial slur to put so they put them all.
9. The only excuse to go to Henry County Georgia
Is a faulty engine or your femur is broken.
The people here are fueled by antiquated ideals of
A once whiter picket fence. I once thought the jail
Was where they put people who knew too much.
I later learned that they just move away.
The population come in waves of babies,
Leaving in their late teens, hoping to never come back.
We all get stuck. Your boot just gets caught in the reeds,
And even though you get your foot free, you must go back
For the boot. You go to the same shitty restaurant,
Eat the same #7 combo, and regret it with every cigarette.
10. Deception and perfection are horrid traits.
One breeds trust, the other distain.
The foundation of relationships
Are built on the cement of hormones
And the want to be wanted.
You didn’t know me until you
Knew you hated me. I hope
You find sincere happiness, or
You remember your bones seared by sin.
Find another’s hand, trembling and sorrowed,
And calm them.
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