Can be, know more?

Am  convicted criminal
Can be no more
Am  bastard
Can be no more
Am liar
Can be no more


Am artist fake forgery
Can be no more


Am  former union organizer, am reparations activist, former (Occupy) Wall Street Director, caregiver of lesbian poet, disabled, traveler to Mexico on desert trips, escaped with $17 in white 1990s-something Buick and jewels from Julie, joker, former student of Julie J, before she had (another) one of her psychotic breaks,
Am a former live-in Rogue Elf for said teacher, Master of English, creator of cogitation awakened to form out a concatenation form from formlessness, am a tired soul, am a former prisoner, prison rebellion teacher,
Am fearful
      can be no more
Am trembling – go through my veins looking for that base, the basest of beats,
                                       can be no more
Am Childish Abandon in the Middle of the Night
Am standing with her as he comes with a knife on Hubbard Lane,
Am reject—-2 years old—-time to go “Tone Tone,”
to granny and papa’s place, love comes from them endlessly, god’s people, forever (or so until am gay and can be no more)
Am buyer of car for mother, am aged 12, or less, after car accident brought “settlement” money ($100,000 for granny and papa, $5,000 for the kid), wanted to go with mom on trip to Disney World or Land, but got a trampoline instead,
was told, can be no more,
Am former young child draftsman, designer of floor-plans, architectural layouts, cityscapes, and more, was told, ‘come outside son, burn the white trash with papa,’
pre-“settlement,” am was damn poor,
was told, we can be no more. the poor can’t afford to pay for the trash to be taken away, in hilly terrain off Round Prairie Road and Redwood Highway stood little shack, between the floor and the wall, crept light, was told, can be no more.
Am former psychology and sociology major,
stopped drawing or painting,
Am formerly exposed to OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER “intrusive thoughts”
Of genital self-mutilation from age 12 to 13, horror beyond horror, replayed on a loop in flesh-thoughts, sleeping, awake, and then the darkness enveloped for a year, “sleeping life away” said grandma,
breakdown brought her to the edge of psychosis, placing moldy bed-frame in place of clean frame in room for her grandson, leaving little breathing room between being struck with Hot Wheels tracks, turn your toys to whips, Jesus said,

am told spare the rod, spoil the child

Am told, can be no more
Am bitter
can be no more


Am leaving much out
can be no more


Am sweet
can be no more


am listening, not for pity,

but for your attention to detail

Can be, know more?


Yayoi Kusama’s Compulsion Furniture (Accumulation) c.1964 / Image courtesy: Ota Fine Arts, Tokyo / © Yayoi Kusama, Yayoi Kusama Studio Inc. Secondary Courtesy: Primary Courtesy:



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