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The man who waited for his
head
to split open
as if the actual end was formality
as if it was some law some rule in stone
you will follow your father
and his father in their insanity
and you will spill your memories
across vacant rooms
like the madmen in parks feeding
imagined pigeons imagined food
shouting the East. the East.
your naked father whose death
was contract, his days mere
formality. No roads back
to wholeness.
But clothes left
on racks, crops that failed.
whole bottles of whiskey bought
at the county line sitting in cupboards.
Stories flooded like fields and never reclaimed
Gone to forest.
------
I'd rather have permanent employment than be called fascinating
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You went to Tampa to stop time
