Mah Message

It juss ain’t right folks… it juss ain’t right!

Aight’den…

I’m locking the door on that moment.

Hear Here n’ Now T’ya you’unz who hear…

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Salt tha sills n threshold
Iron tha tongue.
Bank tha fire.

Original Mother,
keep earth.

Original Father,
keep breath.

Ancestors,
keep blood.

Old Ones,
keep tha threshold.

Marrow…

keep what crawls beneath.

PERICARDIAL THUMP.

THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.

Keep yer young’uns.

All.

Tender.
Strange.
Scarred.
Scared shitless
inside their own skin.

Keep tha loud ones.
Tha quiet ones.
Tha fat ones.
Tha thin ones.
Tha ones with crooked teeth
’n crooked theology.

Porch witches.
Garden heathens.
Failed saints.
Tender bastards
smellin’ faintly
of compost
’n questionable decisions.

Keep ’em.

THUMP.

Fetch tha monsters.

Nah.

Not horns.

Horns got blamed
fer enough shit already.

Bring tha pretty fuckers.

Clean hands.
Smilin’ teeth.
Clever tongues.

Them that find a wound
’n whisper into it.

Closer.

Closer.

Till cruelty sounds
like yer own voice.

That’s how tha hollow works.

Ain’t thunder.

Ain’t claws.

Just a cold little draft
through tha cracks:

ugly.

unwanted.

too much.

not enough.

Again.

Softer.

Till yer own mouth
learns tha words.

Till yer spine hears ’em
before yer ears.

Hackles.

Gut.

That old animal
beneath civilization
sniffin’ tha room.

Something hungry here.

Not fer flesh.

Worse.

Light.

That little angel-ember
buried where laughter
couldn’t quite kill it.

Tiny bastard.

Barely warm.

Still
alive.

Tha hollow kneels.

Smiles.

Whispers:

go out.

THUMP.

Nah.

THUMP.

I said

nah.

I know that voice.

Slept amongst it.

Know Hell’s smallest tongue:

contempt.

But here’s tha part
Hell never taught me.

Fire ain’t only fer burnin’.

Sometimes
ya cook beans on it.

Sometimes lightning
ain’t judgment.

Sometimes tha whole damn sky
just hollers

LOOK UP.

We been lookin’ down
too long.

At bellies.
Scars.
Failures.
Who got banned.
Who got blocked.
Who fucked whom.
Who gained weight.
Who fell apart.
Who got lonely enough
ta tell tha truth
where witnesses could hear.

Dangerous business,
that truth.

Folks claim ta love vulnerability

till somebody leaves
a handle on it.

Then suddenly
a confession
got a bayonet.

Nah.

Not beneath these wings.

Bring receipts.

Bring thunder.

Argue till tha moon
files a noise complaint.

But a body
ain’t an argument.

Pain
ain’t content.

Trust
ain’t carrion.

And cruelty
don’t turn clever
because six chucklefucks
found tha laugh button.

PERICARDIAL THUMP.

There.

Tha Message.

Not

be nice.

Fuck nice.

Nice is casserole
somebody forgot ta salt.

Be human.

Harder spell.

Kindness got knuckles.

Mercy keeps a skinning knife
’n mostly uses it
on apples.

Respect knows
exactly where yer soft

and leaves it
soft.

That’s power.

I got teeth.

Course I do.

Original Mother made wolves too.

But what good
is crawlin’ outta Hell

if ya come back
sellin’ timeshares there?

THUMP.

I want porches.

Long tables.

Strange bread.

Arguments ending:

eat, asshole,
yer soup’s cold.

Somebody disappears

somebody notices.

Ya good?

Nah.

Really.

Ya good?

I want horns grown crooked.

Faces relearned.

Scars retired
from auditionin’
fer forgiveness.

Friendship?

Husbandry.

Tend tha damn thing.

Water.

Watch weather.

Prune what’s dead.

Don’t chainsaw tha peony
then sue Spring.

THUMP.

So take my blessin’,
pretty fucker.

May kaleidoscopic crystal spurs
flower in every joint
of contempt.

Ruby.

Violet.

Emerald.

All them gorgeous little bastards
turnin’
every time cruelty struts.

May gout grease its hinges.

May arrogance limp
all tha way home

wonderin’
why Grandfather’s honest iron
suddenly looks comfortable.

That ain’t vengeance.

That’s horticulture.

Weeds get pulled.

Shit gets composted.

Even rot
can become tomatoes
if ya quit worshippin’ it.

PERICARDIAL THUMP.

Blast this
muthuh fuck’n
RAINBOW.

Not some tidy little arc
fer greeting cards.

Nah.

Give me spectral violence.

Light cracked open
on purpose.

Red bleeding inta orange.

Blue fuckin’ violet.

Colors refusing
ta stay
in their assigned lanes.

Wyrd light.

Weird light.

Every color born
from one white beam
getting broken

and becoming
more beautiful
because of it.

There’s yer covenant.

Quit feeding monsters.

Feed people.

Feed art.

Feed tha odd little ember
some clever bastard
nearly laughed dead.

Cup yer hands around it.

Look.

Still burning.

Stubborn little fucker.

Sacred things
often are.

I ain’t here ta kill ya.

Too easy.

I’m here ta make ya

see.

Tha soul behind yer punchline.

Tha ember ya tried ta extinguish.

Mother in every body ya mocked.

Father behind every eye
ya taught ta lower.

Now
look at me.
Fallen.
Filthy.
Maybe unforgiven.
Still knowin’ what ya forgot:
wounded sacred
is still
sacred.
THUMP.
Children
come home.
Bring yer bellies.
Scars.
Crooked teeth.
Shakin’ hands.
Bring whatever some asshole
taught ya ta hide.
Bring that little ember too.
Especially
that.
Got room beneath these wings.
Original Mother
keep tha earth.
Original Father
keep tha breath.
Ancestors
keep tha blood.
Old Ones
keep tha threshold.
I’ll keep
tha fuckin’ door.
Let tha children sleep.
And when contempt
comes scratchin’ again
don’t wake Heaven.
Don’t wake Hell.
They already heard.
Wake
Marrow.
I’m already down here
ear pressed ta earth
listenin’
with Hell
still smokin’
off
my
wings.