for some reason
my words wouldn’t
work for her

I gave her my
tongue and it came
back chewed

in someone else’s
mouth it could
not weave it’s magic

so I spit blood
down into the dust
to see the color of my soul

it came back to me in sepia robes
pressing a wet Arabic
in its cheek

I said to my tongue:
“I do not know your echo.”
and my tongue replied:

“hold me…
buy me a beer
and forget you ever met me

like all the other
walking haikus
you’ve put your penis in.”

I replied:
“you don’t talk cock
unless I tell you,

don’t you know God
made it officially illegal
in this state?

Besides, johnny cash’s
ghost is making
levi’s commericals

what the fuck do
you care who my
word/cock’s for

when the federal note
is fucking johnny’s ghost
into the ground?

this rainbow’s brighter
than any black
you’ve ever worn.”

my tongue and
my word together
in the same mouth

as homeless teens
hawk theirs
in alleyways

for less than
the pocket of
my levis

fucks for bucks
to anyone
who buys

the american way
american tongue
american cock

american haiku
american pocket
word mouth

my tongue as star
on reality t.v.
thinking it owns this desert


of televised fantasies
and bazooka joe
dreams

my tongue awakens
in Yankee stadium
two on two out

my mouth full
of counting
deceits

with race and base
place, space, the heat
heart and hate of the game

my disgusted
tongue spits
itself out

wondering on
the metal
in your mouth

wishing wet was happy
dark was rich
and words

were wings
in some mouth
of God.