country grass in my hair xii

The bridge troll leaps across silent water
Plucking his sweet fate
He used to be a man
You couldn’t understand
Because of his grotesque face
And he leads the child soldiers
Down river
All that remains
The arrows of God

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Workshop Poetry

Don’t forget the market on Sunday, Don’t forget your Mama.

Dotted lights spell coffee behind my eyes, 

Blonde hair is braided, cutoff, and thrown away – Drowned in an awkward soda.

Cover your mouth. Her eyes dart around the room suspicious of you, followed by a man in yellow…

“You’re writing novels over there?”

Of course only the story of the dream in front me – Reaching for money.

Reaching for candy —

Should I stay with my Uncle? 

A man stares down into his green grocery bag,                              “Where is my money?”