It is very likely
(knowing the current culture of course),
That a title such as above,
or where ever such things are located
would evoke images of dark, braided hair
(and unusual fashion, no less)
Probably on some celebrity or peer
Or latest Snoop-Dogg video
Or latest Allen Iverson highlight.

But this is NOT how I remember corn rows.

I remember leviathan (if leviathan is three times your height) stalks
which erected themselves as solemn as Gregorian monks
(though I had no clue what Gregorian monks were at the time).
But green monks, at that. And very emaciated.
Very, very emaciated.
None of this matters.

I remember, with a running start,
Diving into the safari foliage
Armed with a machete constructed from hickory
(otherwise known as a stick with a pointy end)
And dis

appearing.

There I would hide out,
With mom imploring that I come out.
She said she knew I was in there.
To this day, present moment, in point of fact
I doubt it!

And even if she did, it matters not.
The principle remains:
I stuck it out.
“Dinner,” she offered.
But I didn’t falter
Despite the teacup chihuahua
Beginning to rouse itself in my innards.
But the hunger stalked me like something much more
Vicious than a chihuahua.

I remember a plan formed itself very plainly
As I stocked the jungles, with nineteen suns hanging overhead.
Sunflowers, clearly.
As they beat down mercilessly, I realized my folly thus far:
Provision lent its ears to me
And I devoured them raw!

Shredding their sheaves
The kernels popped and deflated between my teeth,
the white and pee-yellow carnage lay undisturbed on the moist dirt.
Which is probably what pee would look like if you pooped pee
In little turds.

Satisfied, the minutes passed,
But the poor chihuahua, idiot that he was
Got himself swallowed by a lunatic banshee that howled out of my bowels.

I pooped myself.
Diapers were still in vogue (thank goodness!)

Yet as I recall that moment,
Should my browned mess have contained a more
Abrasive, brillo quality
Then, yes.
It would remind me more of corn rows.

The kind I don’t remember.
Or at least the kind I don’t care to.

“Ya’ll hear ‘bout the feller who
sold his sole to the devil?
‘Said he felt bad for ‘em in all,
walking all that time
without no shoes.
‘Said he reckoned his feet musta
been sore as hell.”

Staring at a cement parking bumper
My fears squirm out of it and punch me in the nose.
I want to shed every eye and hide from view
Until they aren’t looking to me anymore.
I am a child trembling like a pencil between Parkinson’s fingers

It’s a wreck.
A downright disaster.
The floorboards creak – speak out of turn, forget to apologize.
New insulation is a necessity; heat escapes the second floor too often.
The sewer’s unpredictable, doesn’t work right as soon as you need it to.
The electricity shuts off just when you’re in the middle of an important project—
Stutters, stops, acquiesces—needs a moment.
No doubt there are more cobwebs in the attic than you could shake a stick at—
Termites seem to have infiltrated the woodwork and they’re tenacious to get out.
It’s possible there’s water damage in the basement, the structure might be unsound.
I’ve been looking into insurance, but I’d settle for assurance if you’re interested.
Yeah, that’s me. I’m a fixer-upper and I need some Tender Loving Care.
I’m looking for someone who knows a thing or two about restoration—
A carpenter, perhaps?—but his son would do.

Let me be like Thomas
that I would say,
I have felt his wounds.

Put your finger here,
see my hands.

He has awakened me
from the dead.

Reach out our hand
and put it into my side.
Stop doubting and believe.

we can forget birthdays
people
wedding vows
names
dates
things which often we will say
‘mean the world to us’
anniversaries
socks
appointments
grudges
schedules
debts
we can forget the things which we say
we will ‘never forget’
lights
numbers
friends
keys
promises

but I can never forget
that dirty joke,

and the bounce of headlights
as wheels tumbled over his body
at fifty-five miles an hour
in the rearview mirror

Headache sitting on my head like a succubus
He says, she says
Sink back in the warm womb of covers, child
This is my Sabbath
Eel skin sibilance soaks slippery in the sheets

Could have resuscitated from a charcoal coma
In time to see overweight ladies in circus hats shaped like beehives and hula-hoops
Come drooling out from between the two red teeth of God’s mouth

But the course faltered as discolored toenails acquainted rug fibers

Watching a face pockmarked by acne and adolescence
Proceed with grated jaw, high cheekbones,
A bruise swelled to a yellow and russet rotting apple

His sticky eyes distinguish
Hands transforming the topography of his shoulders’ canvas
As shuttered eyes and burdened heads bow
To celebrated the boy who said yes

And a voice from the seats whispers to me,
This is the most beautiful example of love I’ve ever known

We swear we’re kings of this world
As a solitary spider
Spins string stronger than steel

When you came into our presence the room emptied into frenzy:
Our bodies contorted for a glimpse
of your sun-warmed complexion,
of your dirtied, sandaled feet.
The voice of the crowd ascended
as we lifted our hands to this king of the Jews.
Our voices crescendoing louder
cavorting arms climbed higher to a climax
our raised hands cleaved tighter around calloused fists
My mouth spewed malice.
My eyes holocausted with hatred.
I screamed bitterly through shredded throat:
“Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! Hang him on a tree!”