^{at the Sipsey River}

make small steps.
in this wild place
there are signs of life
everywhere.
sharp spaces, too:
the slip of a rain-glazed rock
against my searching feet.
small steps, like prayers—
each one a hope exhaled
into the trees. please,
let me enter. please, let me
leave whole.
there are, too, the tiny sounds
of faraway birds. the safety
in their promise of song.
the puddle forming, finally,
after summer rain.
the golden butterfly
against the cave-dark.
maybe there are angels here, too— 
what else can i call the crown of light 
atop the leaves?
what else can i call
my footsteps forward,
small, small, sure?

When I say first time, that implies 
there will be a second, a fourth, a ninety-ninth. 
From far away our teeth must look like Tic Tacs, 
Chiclets, moons of a faraway planet. Nocturnal 
animals can smell better at night because scent 
lingers when the air is still, and so I smell the mint 
of our mouths but also the spill of peppers 
from the salsa dropped on your shirt. The greasy 
sidewalks we walked an hour earlier. Hotel soap 
freshly bubbled and wet in the dish. When I root through 
the thicket or the brush pile, my fur turns electric striped 
and tail-tumbled. I foam at the mouth. The mask 
on my face means bandit. Turns out I love the dark. 
My little paws want to grab everything and wash it. 

    The crust of sleep is broken
Abruptly—
I look drowsily
Through the wide crack.
I do not know whether I see
Three minds, bird-shaped,
Flashing upon the bough of morning;
Or three delicately tinted souls
Butterflying in the sun;
Or three brown-fleshed, husky children
Sprawling hilarious
Over my bed
And me.

On certain corners cars circle ceremoniously & couriers carry cake to
circumvent cases. Classics & coupes constellate  
Crenshaw, Carey, Compton. Cobalt chrysanthemums,  
candles, & champagne celebrate cherished companions ‘cause
comrades collaborated to counter crooked cops  
            & corrupt civic commanders cannibalizing our cities, coloring us cancerous 

Courts, Congress & CEOs conspired to confine citizens 
in coffins & cells, like crack was contagious.  
Churches cried considering their children,  
the condition of their classrooms.  
Caught in a cruel, ceaseless cycle of crisis, 
Crip clenched circumstance

Crip cracc’d the cement chasin’ chicc’n & change  
in California, that concert of calamities.  
Crip cultivated concrete, co-created a community  
of cousins, a coalition come covenant, connected  
by the crimson chronicle of cotton, the collective choice to chase
control coverless in the center of chaos.

Curiously commentary censors constructive critiques that challenge
common conversations about the culture of crippin. Contrary to
contextless caricatures of conflict & consumption C-notes, Chucks, &
chunky cuban chains, cartoonish  
canards of capos, cognac, cocaine, & caskets,  
the code calls for care, coordination. Character is critical.

It’s criminal how Crip been criminalized, then  
commodified. Caliban of Calabasas,  
conscious of the cosmos’ complexity, 
capitalism’s chokehold & its charter, 
the clock’s cold, constant counting,  
& the cramped capaciousness of County,

Crip charted a coastline, cartography of chances 
for the chronically cut off, credit-less, convicted &  
concurrent, constrained like chattel, clamoring 
for a cathartic clash, a calm chapter: 
a clean crib to chill in, consistent checcs 
compassion, a cure for the cancer of civility

Cuhz came correct, clutch Curry. Coruscant champion, clear-sighted
Caesar with cloth cerulean crown, confident, cunning, cutthroat for the
conclusion of combat, crumple the Constitution. Cremate this colony