(Photo taken at Joe Road — Jonesboro, LA)

June, 28 2019***

From our 89′ reunion, I learned to rejoin them; family communion.

Forget names, country folk ain’t pleading fame; exclude them.

Country grammar under a dirty hot slammer; bug sounds are louder.

Over 200 cousins and counting.

Like the names, I cannot pronounce them.

Family trees are for the worldly beings.

If you’re my cousin, where have you been?

We run the land of the privileged; no one owed us.

It’s the sharing air and breath we took which restored fuss.

Writing for the lives to live and see their children’s fibs.

Then we ate ribs.

I’m not speaking about you personally, nor do I care to explain what Joe Road could do for you mentally.

Hell, even I’m confused at the words ordering me spiritually.

Under Dekum’s blue, we waited for June to end.

Come July, it was Louisiana; not the hot sauce, but a first flight to see cousins who aint’ talk like them.

They all black though, maybe some relation by kin.

Black at the local Walmart; you’re family then.

My worth is in the family‘s girth.

We came here by extending the merch’.

Who art thou Budd?

Love, but what art thou love?

Trust, but who doth our trust?

You, who art you?

A reader, no, a believer to read yo’ cuz’..

I visited Jupiter this past summer.

A bright white rock.

Don’t worry how, Celestron to start for now.

Patience at level eight.

A writing struggle some GOD made great.

I don’t influence shit.

I hate that it’s hard to influence me yet.

Here I am and fear I slam.

Anxiety I cram, in the trunk like a body… gotdamn.

For family I present lamb.

I needed a word to end this poetry, mann…

And thank family for speaking first about the big head I think in.

-Budd