off fm 359 between hempstead and monaville at dusk.

hi. sorry i’m short of breath

sorry for the dirt in my nails

see i just came up from the earth

had to dig around deep for this one

but i found it, thank god.

lord knows i can’t write this shit myself.

 

this one was

off fm 359 between hempstead and monaville at dusk.

 

i knelt on the grass head down toward a house called mecca

that i still see when i dream

that im a kid again

and didn’t stop there. no.

i pushed my hands into the land and planted

myself in the soil warm like wedding cake

up to my wrists

i felt the face of a raincloud. its skin was dry.

felt a dustdevil cry

a hurricane breathe in gasping afraid

an earthquake pounding out beats on the floor of california

and a boy called earth spinning the globe like a disney teacup ride laughing

while others waited in fault lines a mile long

he told me stories

lying like little kids lie like its his job

to fertilize the forests with the bullshit he spits

said

“those streets up there ain’t concrete mister

they are paved with years

from farm to market to death rattle

ringing on past towns

drawin county lines with regolith

 

and people dont know

down that road in corpus

lazarus was born and raised

age five dying over and over and coming back

laughin more everytime

scared the hell outta of his momma

and played freeze tag with michaelangelo

where mike made his first statues out of schoolmates

down the line he took the chisel to himself and chipped away.

he prefers to work with people.

wants a lover to shape with his hands

someone that would carve him back

and chip away his excess.

he too longs for home

and says we all hail from corpus

even if we dont.

 

and people don’t know

before helen of troy

there was helen of troy, texas

who sang the blues

hiding bluebonnets in her mouth

blowin out petals with every verse

and looked most beautiful

with dirt on her hands.

heroes vied for her love

jefferson johnson lipscomb hurt and house

not by fighting and dying but learning her music

and every battle in troy she played out back

riding a horse fast as she fucking can.

and every battle in troy           

pushed her out of that nowhere town

to university then graduate school then legend.

she invented penicillin

and goes by doctor helen of troy, texas. ph d.

thank you.

 

and people don’t know

i grew up with father time

his real name is tim

and father time’s father mance

fixes up grandfather clocks down in navasota

and when tim sleeps through his alarm

rolling back years in bed

mance put father time in time out

and starts settin all clocks back

its seven thirty now

wait

six thirty

wait

yesterday

last year

1492

in a post christian age

he prays it will help us think

counter-clock-wise again.”

 

like i said that kid earth is full of shit.

so i left but he came with.

 

and up to my neck i heard a mountain range sigh

it spoke the same language as blue whales in fact the two are cousins

and it pulled out empty pockets like hoover flags and cried

“we got no money for you, mister.

us fault lines are broke as a joke.

just leave us alone.”

and “no no no” i said “the air outside makes me cough and my head feel light.

they paved highways under the english channel

but still don’t build billboards pointing down, not yet.”

“ok,” they said, “come on in but take of them boots

this mud’s ages old

so don’t track nothing new

if you stain it with clean then you get down and muddy it up again

spotless spots of sterile don’t come out of dirt that easy.”

 

those rocky mountains seemed rough around the edges so i left

and let little earth tag along

 

down deeper there’s old bones

in the shape of music notes

where you hear america whisper

into the ground’s ear, which we call

the grand canyon.

earth says to watch what you say

it hears everything

and like all kids, he’s sensitive

he can tell the hardness of your heart by how hard you step.

so im through with shoes

from here on out its bare feet for me

‘cause the ground thinks we all have rubber souls

(I didn’t argue about it. Wasn’t sure I’d win that one.)

 

Just went further down

and cooked s’mores in the fires of the earth’s core

and swapped ghost stories with mayan gods

 

when they fell asleep

i went back up and out the same way i came in

except i was a child again

at that age when we all spoke to the earth and

dug holes in sandboxes to gossip.

i stood and that kid earth yelled up to me one last thing.

he said

 

texas is yours.

you are in her hands.

this land is the bare back of helen

stretching out.

she lets you walk across her skin

and laughs when you think you are lost

‘cause youre not.

never.

(she is all over you.)

 

a bride you call the south spanning acres

she sleeps away the day, her form impressed in bedsheetrock

and the night, a blanket she clings to.

 

you are married to this land and she to you and she loves you.

til death don’t you part and on and on after that.