Speaking to the Corners of the Room


Here where the books live with blue ink pens
and the oak desk ells the walls
Here where the chair peels its fake leather skin
I’m speaking to the corners of the room
Windows open, curtains in the breeze
Sirens screaming, chanting in the streets
Handcuffs cuffing out in the world
Speaking to the corners of the room
Knobs on the closet, art on the wall
Mother of Jesus, ginger with a gun
Hale Bopp sailing over Stonehenge
Speaking to the corners of the room
Stinkbugs in the kitchen, Anger in the bed:
How did it get there, when will it leave?
Worms in the lily, strangers at the door
Speaking to the corners of the room
Shoes go marching, land of the Free
Protests alive and loud, they won’t leave
Seeking justice until we bleed
Teargas, jail us! U.S.A.!
Club us, shoot us! U.S.A.!
Speaking to the corners of the room.

In West Virginia


Barber shops close on Mondays.
Pepperoni baked in yeast rolls is lunch.

Yellow lighters are unlucky
like dead canaries in coal mines.

To make it rain, turn a snake belly up.
Roadways twine over hills beside rivers.

Hills feed rivers that flow into hollows.
Deer and groundhog live next door to squirrels.

The end of prohibition commodified moonshine;
now it’s grain alcohol flavored with sugar.

Michelle Fincham is a name you should know.
Before Memorial Day, don’t go barefoot.

Bury your hair after it’s been cut.
Don’t forget Blair Mountain or Harper’s Ferry.

Don’t forget #55strong.
Like Grandma said,

If it’s in the cat, it’s in the kitten.
Go Mountaineers! is the state song.

Welcome to wild and wonderful.
Sometimes, the hardware store goes fishing.