Visit Me

Waddle outside Nevada
for once, forget sage
sprinkling the desert.
Come east and taste these trees.
Iíll whisk the grits
from your tear ducts. Iíve only just learned
to enjoy grits. So, this is new
also to me, this corn waving
down goodbyes. I miss Mexican
food, the hazy Sierras, no mosquitoes,
cheap Pabst. One downside:
everyone here loves PBR,
which drives prices heavenward.
Also, churches occupy all
space. In fact, I live in a giant
church. Jesus is my landlord.
He whistles Dixie while twisting
washers onto dripping faucets. Oh, Jesus,
we never asked for you
to stop the onslaught of water.
Everything is super sweet or super
salty: iced tea: islands of sugar
in amber fluid. Barbecue pork ribs:
oh, fuck metaphor: theyíre salty
as shit. But we could walk
along the Ocoee, we could drown
in the airóso much
we canít speak for all the breathing.
Imagine youíre an amoeba! All slink
and wobble, groaning out
for promecia. That freedom
of movement. Could you wash
your hair and leap the river?
Barbecue your guns. Call me
your Southern problem, call me
your reconstruction project, call
me and say youíve bought a ticket,
and this time, you mean to use it.

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