#bob lucky

[soracities]

Valentine's Day a neon heart flickers off and on and off and on... the Morse code of desire

Bob Lucky, from ‘Working With Ghosts’, published in Rattle

[haikupresence]

raking leaves the wind and i take turns

Bob Lucky, Presence 48 (2013)

[missedstations]

“Wouldn’t You Confess?” - Bob Lucky

I want to write an anti-war poem          like Marvin Bell or Robert Hass. I want to write an anti-war poem          but I’m always tripped up by how stupidity gloms onto power until power becomes stupid. I’ve tried to write anti-war poems but I don’t have the heart. I don’t have the guts. I do not suffer suffering well, nor the inhumanity of us versus us. I know we’re not all on the same team          but can’t we play nice? I can’t think too much          about smashing testicles          waterboarding          electric cattle prods          boot licking piss showers          shit eating dog collars without wanting to develop a serious drinking problem. Wouldn’t you confess          to anything if some moron with a high school diploma or GED who enjoyed smashing your balls looked forward to responding to your pained muteness with another knee to your groin? Say something. Say anything. Say you’re sorry for bleeding          on the fist that loves your face or pissing in your pants,          say you’re sorry for your accent and your father’s religion,          for the color of your skin or the gender of the person you love,          say you’re sorry for shitting on the baton shoved up your ass. Say          you’re sorry. They like that.

[betwixtthevoids]

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