42 Bookers 2015-21

it might only be
a little life
but it is my life
& i am unwilling
to exit west
to lose everything
under the overstory.
i am a satin island
in a sea of fishermen
born in the year
of the runaways
next to a spool
of blue thread.
sucked hot milk from
the autumn milkman
am all that man is.
am girl, woman, other.
do not say we have
nothing. for we are
his bloody project
a history of wolves.
and i would rather
spend 10 minutes
38 seconds in this
strange world
in this mournable body
in the new wilderness
of a real life
than be burnt sugar
for the shadow king
& that is the promise.
for no one is talking
about this bewilderment
and the fortune men
lose in the sellout
to a passage north
to the great circle
of ducks, newburyport.
the long take
of the testaments
reminds us 4321
of lincoln in the bardo
& a brief history
of seven killings:
eileen, elmet, shuggie bain,
washington black, quichotte
as well as an orchestra of
minorities in the mars room.