Poem For My Unborn Thomas #40
It is not a stone
unfastened from the cliff.
It is the cliff, arrived.
Poem For My Unborn Thomas #41
Thomas, allow me to speak winter to you.
It is a process for the kings of salt,
those that have the most salt to lose
& mended to return are given the bend
to drink a chemical winter, because this
is Ohio, this is across from all prisons
of good season. This land is a picture of want
& we will poison the nation to heat
the boats of survival. Cut the taste, son,
your face will freeze like that, if you don’t
stop barking against the winds, the love
of the wind, pushing all change to die
here in Ohio. This winter, first winter
for you, we could skate freely without harm,
we could drown amidst the proper fools
with prepared grievances for the gods
of simple lands. Immigrate to the light.
Immigrate to the possibility of scenery.
The hills will hold you steady, pressed deep
into the curve, the rebound of man, waiting.
Poem For My Unborn Thomas #42
That big fear, inhabiting you already,
is of dreadful beauty, of seeing glory
independent of the watchers. Tiny explosion,
all meaning comes from action, repeated
for no other reason than creation
& the passing of time. Bet on redemption
before you bet on heat. Be destined
to explore the boundaries of failure.
Dip your toe, lose your foot, dance
defiantly against your surroundings.
Hug your father with sincere force.
Judge me harshly. Find your own god.
Name your god something un-
pronounceable. Be almost free of hate.
Share the foundry of your love with no one.
