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Ha!! Me, too…

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Poof* Take MY water

https://youtu.be/eg2Kw1jIXOw

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ATM

They

will sell you

candy cigarettes,

insulin,

Camel Wides,

chemotherapy,

God,

nicotine patches,

life insurance,

and a bronze casket

all

in one lifetime.

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activism Americana art cartography cemeteries death fairy tales festivities film funerals geography Hell horror nightmares non-fiction Ohio poetry punk rituals Uncategorized

midwestern death song

last night

shots rang out

slicing August’s midnight miasma

a quivering queen city listened

as Cherokee bells

echoed over cobblestones

black swan feathers topping lost hopes

filling horse-drawn funeral carriages

eighteen shot

four dead

blood pooling at the base

seven screaming hills

four shootings in Cincinnati

ninety fatal minutes

national news coverage

backlit red images

of our violent infection

suffer do we

these slings & arrows

whispering sacred prayers

to a god unlistening

please make

every bullet fired

explode into a spray

of evening primroses

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absent without leave

who can sleep

through the raging silence

of all our canceled parties

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activism addiction Americana childhood deviance family feminism Hell history journalism Kentucky non-fiction Ohio poetry sociopathology Uncategorized

a girl child

two decades ago i took

an overdue trip to Central Ohio

introducing my former mother-in-law to her six month old twin grandsons

we got to talking about Kentucky

as all transplanted Kentuckians do

we bounced gurgling baby innocence on our respective maternal knees having our own little gossip social

curling wispy baby hairs in her worn fingers

her laughter turned to pained breaths

as she shuttered out

a mortifying truth

about a bluegrass upbringing

she was discussing how she had been repeatedly raped as a girl by her father in Hyden, Kentucky

ran away to something worse at 14

how her first marriage ended when she found her alcoholic unemploymed coal miner husband was molesting her two little girls while she was waitressing to support the jerk

fleeing north to Ohio with them

to single motherdom with three kids in the 1960s living in a car until she could afford a place to rent

tears streamed down

her withered cheeks

as she said

“A girl child isn’t safe growing up around a family of men in the South.”

20 years later i think of her words and the women in my biological family

four generations of women who tried to protect their genitalia from one family member

the irony of being expected to smile and pretend

give forgiving hugs

that i’m the one who doesn’t feel comfortable coming to the Thanksgiving table

not the man who couldn’t keep his hands to himself

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Maslow’s Fire Sale

don’t you worry, working poor

the richest people

will always have access

to

food

clothing

shelter

sex

god’s offering plate

drugs to feel good

meaningless trophies

abortions too

so go on fighting

about the right

to wear a gun

but not a face mask

in your red Trump hat

and Walmart shoes

 

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ghost light

the moment he turned

and walked away

our world became peckinpah

i can no longer discern

whose blood

my hands are weeping over

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shock jock

there are times

i feel like the only person alive

who feels that

one Bukowski

was enough

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addiction affectation Americana art behavior books cemeteries childhood chronology cinema civility destruction divinity ecology education Hell history horror human behavior life literature local color mortuary sciences museums Music mythology non-fiction ornithology painting poetry Uncategorized

master class

i suppose you could say

i’m one of those people

who has seen more than their

fair share of things

you will certainly find

me adept

in a broad range of topics

from culinary techniques

to obscure music

embalming

comic books

addictive substances

and

lesser know shitty diners

of the northeast

some of it owed to college

and my need

to join the rat race too soon

mostly it was my proclivities

my insistence on taking

a master class

in dating old fucks

what an education