What are you reading?

Farid Matuk

Panter Tanter

Abdul from Kenya is real

we'll make a fire tomorrow how many names could they have

the eyebeaters blind kids Dickey used

you want to defend them from his program

some tea and the adults would just watch the kids

in Saudi we rented two fields they could play soccer

in humanface you ask my son would he rather live in Kenya or Plano he says Saudi

mom would have been Rose, my aunt would have been Dorothy

full nose, Buick vinyl, clip-ons, pastels, womanface

Abdul wants to make community I say of course let me tell you

I would have done drugs less if I'd seen my mom and aunt go

to their water like fishes who don't care

the kids punched their little fists right into their eyes to flash

a light against the walls of their brains Dickey wanting you prime

to see you and the credit cards in your wallet

when you visited the nerve of the poem trying to be your blindface

I would have been Blanche the slutty one we'll make a fire tomorrow

you see if you just write what you know you won't use anybody

is power qua power the Kenyans in Plano will go to the Mosque

everybody is one in prayers but they won't make the effort to

make the image at least my son can get on his bike he's there in three minutes

since they opened the basketball court I know he's safe

Rose of Saint Olaf knows to get together here where we all are now

once a week so the kids wouldn't

listen to Prince and believe sex is a techne for exceeding oneself

in Plano everyone is too just themselves you make plans you call that day

say hey we're coming your way they say no say no say no say no say no

image flash so bad they'd take the hurt tough like the old man and the sea

like the sheep child tough truths to give your readers too bad art must be terrible

or beautiful but never cute Dorothy said she got used to this country we need to

be Kenyan together but everyone is always alone just themselves in their house

it was Blanche's house had they not arrived there had they not needed one another

the market swirled the night above the lanai to dissolve the stars they knew this

the kids beat their eyes to deal with it you want to protect their dignity always

increased or preserved by a good poem one uses

but everyone is always alone just themselves in their house Abdul

you find the image you need everything here is stolen

That You Are Sold Over the Throwing

A wave breaks all the salt of the world revealed in the last wake. We'll bicycle on it with a pick, learn to fix the Chevy, my daughter is growing her brain and lungs in Virginia, I don't know anything. The wind come through this morning like water down each needle and leaf, just like now.

Eleven viceroys at the end of the party, el Niño fog mounts the bus fumes finger your nose, take command of that phenotype, the order of origins scoots one over. The new haircut settles, separates and rejoins its change. Viceroy hats are different, not better, under our various trees and loose slide tails in the beach break.

This place was prettier when soldiers had to clean it, uncaring about the "Japs" or the nukes or how deep the bunkers run.

This is a poetics, but with all the evil down on the one lung, it's a shame really, there are others of the open heart.

This wind from the plains that contains those who aspire to a safe room, those who fall off the beat, who fall off the sad feeling in the story. "Duke was only after your confidence."

Cup for the sun, the rain, the radiation of young love spooning on the deck, through the lunch hour, on the driveways. We were good, we were always good. We took our burgers from the hands of the work program servers; we bought gold, cotton, and vinyl. This is the making of a usable past. Whatever household blade you take, daughter, will show you how we're in there.

This shows you that you are sold, Eliza that she is running away over the throwing Ohio River.

The late daughters carried dignity, threads, and pans and cloth

merchant already had himself a shop, hard to say

what his early ambulating meant other than

Turk is as does now an

easy mark punching the steering wheel

at each glass tower gloating the workers

and their bad taste inside

Holy Spirit: "moved upon the face of the waters"

Paraclete, called in aide, along side.

Shake the Bear Funny Name

my daughter on my chest

my daughter watching lights

my daughter turning away

my daughter a clock D says

my daughter Mexico one day

my daughter abandoned by seconds

my daughter San Francisco

my daughter dog slobber

my daughter pop song

my daughter her sex

my daughter her fumbling

my daughter mission

my daughter her check

my daughter handwriting

my daughter car accident

my daughter shake the bear

my daughter all the barbells in the air

my daughter the empty highways

my daughter the farms to market

my daughter under my chin

my daughter back hair

my daughter Esther Williams

my daughter funny name

my daughter dodge the wasp

my daughter 30,000 foot view

my daughter panorama nostalgia ghost

my daughter mineral depression

my daughter vitamin free

my daughter crystal mane

my daughter amber leaf light

my daughter hole within the hole

my daughter twelve sail cruiser