Split the Lark & You Will Find the Music

Monday, July 15, 2019
In the spring       of my first leaving       an Onondaga longhouse
two men struggled       to kill themselves       what little was left
of their souls       whipsawed ringside       & res-sanctioned lights
blistered a mixed       crowd all of it       just another town scraped
out the prairie       Monongahela       whos-it-whats-its jostling 
for a look       through scribbled       sight toward the sparkle
of two men’s       encaged torsos       we are better than this?
asked the woman       next to me       smelling so sweetly of strawberries
it would almost make       a sick stomach       hunger
yelled the scared       crow of an officiator       all but ignored
by the two men       of muscle & leopard       born supple
now rigid       in their arms      jack-in-the-boxes of unsprung
potential how many       bodies are built       upon the strong
foundations of pain       ours rang red       with the chorus of a butcher’s
floor spilled       bucket tossed tooth       & snout on oil-slick mats
here are the so-called tree loving       hippies us       vines around the trunk
of violence       Natives against our own       selves the smaller
fighter’s teeth       knocked jagged       as a fresh cut key
& now I see       he is just a boy       stumbling the man
next to me shouts      a hurt dog barks      whatever the fuck that means
before the blackout      I skip out       on the worst parts of myself
when I drive home      I shake so hard       I can barely hold the steering
& when I reach       for the door of my last night       in this home
I cannot       remember why      I decided to leave the fight
Monday, July 15, 2019