From the Fishouse

hear me loosen from the alabaster

crosses all lose grounding

feathers from the cock
craft delicate flakes not of snow

no more bus tours
no more trampling over my charms
above ground under water I am calcium
milky spirals in ruby mud and splinter

I can rest now

with plastic and cinderblock
the markings are bloated inscribed with a telling mood

black is my conjure blues

what could my spells do now?
the rattle is drifting between a roof and a river
my handsome messengers float head down in fashionable white

all this
good for my sleep
I’ve not slept for a very long time

how un/peaceful these gates were
the levees lost purpose
my neighbors some were without a stone anyway

you’ve given enough coins
no more flowers now
leave no single note for your heart doting and twinge
jot not another cross please

these pores are filled
too cemented with wants and reprisal

when the water subsides
my prayer will have bosomed

the freshness of cholera and myth goes further
I can rest