for Raymond Wood Jr., 1994–1995
I was a foot tall, charming, tot stupid,
bump stumbling, a rumble lump of less
than future. It took me minutes to die,
my self blurring and curled like a comma
in leaving, Newport stubs damp candles
in my hair. Rayie Wood Jr., pesky shard
in the hip of the world. Why else would
you lift me above your head, slam me
to tile, lift me up again by my legs, swing
me against the closed door wicked enough
to splinter Wood, call me sugary names,
oh so sweet bastard me? But I thank you
father for the patient teaching of screech,
for drenching my one tooth in blood.
Thank you daddyman, for the alphabet
of the floorboards, thank you mother
for the live matches against me. Thank
you SHUT father for the ripe THE FUCK
UP loving in your mouth, thank you for
YOU LITTLE the slam and the smash me
BASTARD and for the bounce and the
rattle, for the drama of cut beginning.
How else would I learn the huge love in
red hiss kisses, the shining purpose of me?