aayoungi am the seventh great granddaughter
of pocahontas
7th daughter of a 7th daughter
the smoke rise witch queen naturally reborn
as the vengeance
of a Kentucky prairie
filled with the blood
of 16 thousand dead cherokees
i have come for what was ours
i have come to dethrone unjust kings
after three forays through college
trying to cope with the evolving deeds
of dirty politicians
i will die owing our grand government
money
for my higher education
unless i can land
a good job
as a high class call girl
sucking cock
laughing at unfunny jokes
and taking it up the ass
for no less
than 1,000 dollars
a night
yeah, baby
i could have this shit licked
in the same amout of time
moses was driving the love boat
across the dead sea
is it sad
i think the only downside of this
is my time becoming so sacrosanct
i’ll never get to my laundry
i don’t regret hurting you
i do regret knowing you
you’re the reason why our kids are ugly
i don’t care for the ginsberg poem
i’m not hung up on living past forty
i enjoy a big piece of meat in all forms
i think all poetry should be free verse
vanilla should be outlawed
marijuana should be legal
rapists and pedophiles and corrupt bankers should be executed
incendiary is good
i don’t give a fuck about my cholesterol
the government should forget everything they’re doing and begin again
people should throw out their child’s video game system while they still have some semblance of a soul
put a book in your child’s hands so they read it and learn empathy
take a walk every day
own a dog
be marvelously kind even when you don’t feel like it
liquor is good
sex is good
shut up and listen regularly
.
.
i’m falling in love with you
.
.
reality tv should end
abortions should be free and considered an act of mercy
women should be paid equally
water should be cherished
insurance companies should be banished
men should not be bashed for having balls
national healthcare need be implemented
all weapons should be melted into a temple built to honor peace
dance to music daily
religion should be do it yourself
the evening
hears the chickens cluck
they eat tomato seeds
from an attentive keeper
the spider lady plants
lean against the old wood shop
lavender hookers
the sun is dripping
down the house’s western
grapevine growing side
and the wind chimes
are playing
counting flowers on the wall
by the statler brothers
the garden is in a state of grand decline
purple faced petunias
who don’t know
not to be beautiful
float upward after drinking rain
the picnic table
has a centerpiece
of foxfire
glowing
for the half august moon
the smell
of fall
a notion
harbored
within the breeze
upon my face
i fear the coming winter
and
for two hundred year old trees
roots weakened
by shifting soil
that remembers
native curses uttered
this earth parched for water
of provincial people
composed
and
carbon bonded
of a more
egalitarian
molecule