by Christian Aldana
1)
the white house—sob!!—is sick.
here lies—er—er—
the United—whee—
understood its strategy
to lose votes
your screen—ech—
has been running—awk—
a gold grin
wide & empty.
2)
god,
america is stuck in business with henry
that’s true … why
3)
Henry may be found in a grave.
A hundred years blur
& somewhere
Henry hacks
the ghastly little cough
& missing his heart,
Henry knows he won’t be missed
ever.
4)
a modest eagle spread could happen to life
explain death to this little handkerchief
my phone tells a bullet sandwich explain that
your shotgun
5)
verbed of dooming news,
so sick & emptying,
mother pried dove light
after dawn for forty years.
i broke down his mind,
felt like i should have done that
& the guy shot & bucked
and i did not hold back,
i refuse the mind
as mine,
was a grizzly
6)
the source
is quiet, quite alone
& i’d leave it
he won’t make it out.
pain may come,
it will come
from here,
in here,
to there.