Roads

roads

The Interstate is the Trail of Tears for intellectu
al (l) (s)
I mean to say is that I need one more
day
light fades up like a radio coming into r
ange
r is justified
they’re draining the dregs of my cup of sor
row

for shore
find help
send them back with chocodi
(the) les
s said by us the easier it is for them
to hear the stock (the) bell

e of the farm doesn’t scream she udder s
ophists sop soup with sow’s ears so they
(’re) (slurp)

not like us they don’t feel we’ve an ocean inside
they’re
empty
your mind of desire
except for that blond with the massive tee
tas

te the wind and you’ve licked a sigh
taste the rain and you’ve tongued God’s
thighs
lead us like road signs
first: one way
then: pass with
care

for the lesser things of the Earth
the plants
the animals
the roads
we need are not printed on any maps
unless you have one of those previously
unprinted roads maps.


C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on Shampoo Poetry