mollusk

talk  of cactus flowers in the kitchen wearing  granmær's  old  sky blue apron 

anticipating  leaving work once home  its the undressing that i enjoy 

change in career—is hope possible in Trumpian America hellfire: feeling tongues on back of my neck  wearing boat shoes—things just don't seem normal  wilting magnolias in and out of this white noise messy hair this morning: mint tea and old newspapers fertility clinic—husband and wife divorcing after 5 yrs challenges of life: marriage has a certain bite to it

 "Tou shanm a koushé gin maringwin."  (all bedrooms have (there own) mosquitos) /everyone has skeletons in their closets/ — Kouri-Vini (Louisiana Creole) proverb

 all this  hotel laughter behind me  hearing the rushing of  dark waters  criticized  by a white guy for speaking Ebonics without any shame more than one argument about Black English... there will be  no more code switching by me  bite into a crisp apple  his pungent coffee  hides his contempt at my Southern drawl "King's English"  and Vernaculars ... when did speech  become so elitist  early this morning  a glass of peach schnapps... some days  i just dont give a f*ck anymore  (sedoka)) will i be crucified  for speaking  in all my Blackness... "oh you speak so well"  'for a Black man'  i say to myself  already my body is tired with fatigue—before work, another swig of flavored vodka lust sunk deep inside me, Black men White men Mixed men and still this...foreboding  not hungry yet starving and...a fifteen minute bus ride to work seems like a trip to hell  beautiful devils check in, phone number slid to me, a smile and invitation for later

pigeons pecking everywhere, weeks seems to mock me  yellowed photos of family, tractor in background sepia too mint tea chill between us carries weight aged rosary— no more room  for any prayers needing to pray only a T'ang poem comes out morning fatigue solitary daisies on  dirty breakfast table "save America..." packing my things  for Hell cranberry juice for breakfast, too much haiku education tiresome "Immigration's the problem" words said by an immigrant  in dark woods  all the misunderstandings  monmon left me remnants of rain: 17 onji of senryu of haiku political climate dismal...weighty—getting more eggs harboring resentment, thoughts i don't vocalize toward Trump 'happy marriage' quite the lie—the potatoes a bit hard  each bite of bacon...blistering winter wind inside this place hometown soil, cling to my shoes eating a BLT traumatized by roaches—my Starbucks' runnin' late morning rain yesterday's bad decisions greet me  hang