(Photo taken at Joe Road — Jonesboro, LA)
June, 28 2019***
From the 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 all of them.
Family tree’s 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 am 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 I aint’ talk like you.
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 from 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 — fear I slam.
Anxiety I cram, in the trunk like a body gotdamn.
For family I present lamb.
Hell; I needed a word to end this poetry mann.
And thank family for speaking first about the big head I think in.