Brody Parrish Craig
4 Poems
First of the Month
the blackbird’s shadow bans itself
we blame the epigraph of birds
the good cop of the first born son
a stash of something frosted
in the nose or tips of hair or teeth
the pearly gates of prisons
heaven’s bars redacted
documents a bible verse
of motel dreams a banner streamer
twitch of us together
on the shelf of cheap ideas
bottom shelf bourbon
blues of heaven sent the light bill
hell of angel’s motorcycle
driving through heaven with no helmet on
“words for the body you were”
— after michael m. weinstein
halo
limelight
second supper
hands & hair & skin kept tight
the taut wrist of a jukebox’s flash
& music crept into my mouth.
heat lightning brow
all winter bound
& bundled—book in motel drawer.
return to address sender
self a post card
gender stamped
all pin up pig skin butterfly
& snake oil knuckles
nameless
heathens
saints
the strap on’s lord
who we delivered & desired
who was I but a mountain
without holler
what the silence swore
CUFFING SEASON
yr in the street arguing w police
some twitch running the platform of yr mouth
yr baby’s in his momma’s arms watching the cop cars from the driveway
or yr husband’s waiting for you
or yr daughter’s w yr mom
waiting for you to come back home from work
or yr sister’s FaceTiming yr mom
or yr therapist’s on hold with someone’s warden
some gospel in the bodyglovebox checked
some ransom note
a throat knocked back
a wallet's quarter rest
a song held back
just like a drink of river water
some god who put a collar
near each chest
they say the bones
will pick just like a locket
yr in the street
& then yr nowhere
for a little while
or gone
YOU SCARED THE DAYLIGHTS OUTTA ME
take back the night I cracked up in the mirror
hard luck on the buckeye tooth & seed
tick in the comb again
this hairline fracture at the gray
area scalp
lean back & lean receded
pick up line: the water holds your back
or else hands back
& flood is laughing
over us
the clapping of the river
lapping blocks and blocks
to come around here
hell or high
as water throwing hands
what's skinny
cigarette to flick
a misty out the mouth
to ash the tongue
into gray area
a parking lot where language forms
a smoke bomb in the mail box now
got stamps for food & letters
enveloped in americana dream
born from the blue lights & the red streams
& white hands