Homeless

I. Displaced, I space.
I Escalante raven crevice.
I Pawnee Butte and pistol Livermore.
I Sangamon River wood and Elkhart Hill.
I Platte and prairie desert bore.
I Shavano mountain break and race.
I black-stone sea and Shelter Cove.
I Whidbey Island and Hyde Park.
I Denver concrete dance and door.
I Paris alley piss and shit.
I sky high dry or wet and low.
I sprig of sage on hotel sill.
I Crestone rainbow thunderstorm.
I muddy grave in basement bottles.
I bloody torma Roaring Fork.

II. Underground
I can’t throw out
The poster I stole
From the London Underground—
Its rainbow routes
Laid out in squeezed oils
Where I was reborn
Epiphanic Tube
Before a beer advert where
All the metaphors
Of my Midwestern birth,
All the revelations
Of Palmyra’s prophet,
All my fatherless prayers
Lost their words.

III. Lost Tribes
I’ve looked for my people
In lichen foothills, found
Brothers lost in camo and conspiracy,
Lovers lost in polyamory’s woods,
Sisters lost in men, meth, mother-books.

I’ve looked for my people
Clapping for every poem
Ever under- or over-performed,
Cried out fine poets’ names
Driving off like dust
And windshield rain.

I’ve looked for my people
In the dark Morrigan
And triple Brighid—
Found them khandros
In red-robed men
Speaking Tibetan,
Wrestling English
In distant cities while I sit
Staring at a screen, giggling
At every mispronunciation
We will ever make, reading
Each other’s word-pained lips
Looking for our people.

2013