Patterns

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the exchange in Doraville – ‘Old Sarge’ Replica, semi-automatic, battery-operated M-16 charged soundscapes, flanked in the woods behind our houses Bunkered in camouflage gear, with face paint sticks, and hot water canteens Go-cart trails across the street, written in the trees, too afraid to ride or drive, I’d watch At the edge of a long backyard, a creek dammed in piles dug out, erosion of its banks, attracting mosquitos, and the ire of grandmothers The street we’d roam, packing Daisy pellet guns. Distressing friends shooting at squirrels on power lines Kicking fences of angry yard dogs Spying and profiling, across and between a ditch and some yards, our tormented neighbor, brandishing, and his idle threats My older cousins played stickball over Miller Lite in the backyard of their bachelor house Wiffle-balls wrapped in black electric tape Thrown heat, it would welt your skin if pegged, your bare hands if caught, off a wicked yellow plastic bat A trove of dirty magazines in their front 6
athroom closet, not just Playboy or Penthouse, they had Genesis, Gallery and Oui Taking one from the bottom of the pile in my waist band, I’d sneak past them and their friends, drinking and talking about the lines on games, calling their bookies We traded baseball cards out of plastic sheets, re-visioning series in the yard, reimagining each future and past season of major American team sports, but not hockey or soccer Night games of Capture the Flag, epic in the darkness with only one light on the street – pitch black all around Explorations of the spring, the destination of the neighborhood creek A live crawdad was swallowed whole on part of the journey I blazed a trail, bionic speed, over rumors of wild dogs, all the way home Summer’s blissful abandon, rezoned for posterity, its development passed in memoriam Capture the Flag Who ever thinks the end is now? Who ever thought a sleepover night’s game 7
Page 3: Patterns of Reconciliation Matt Mau
Page 6 and 7: Introduction from the Prism of Past
Page 10 and 11: was the last time I’d ever set fo
Page 12 and 13: exchanging vows at a church on a su
Page 14 and 15: You know all too well because your
Page 16 and 17: a passing day it has become The gre
Page 18 and 19: Sands-a-slippin’, the tide’s wa
Page 21 and 22: Part Two Determination of Deteriora
Page 23 and 24: epeating tender moments, and the sa
Page 25 and 26: An unconscious escape, just coining
Page 27 and 28: The colors within shadows can be in
Page 29 and 30: Waste high in deep panorama, life m
Page 31 and 32: weeping of our brothers and sisters
Page 33: only false consolation Eras die off
Page 36 and 37: Not Easily Resolved You packed for
Page 38 and 39: Am/Are a Shadow I am a shadow whose
Page 40 and 41: This was carefully thought out Just
Page 42 and 43: ack into the stream, the movement t
Page 44 and 45: The lonely call to action, random i
Page 47 and 48: Part Four Post-mortem or Rebirth 45
Page 49 and 50: When we met, I’d asked you where
Page 51 and 52: Breaking free is understanding the
Page 53 and 54: Blood Mediation in Transit Funny ho
Page 55 and 56: illicit gifts sent inconspicuously
Page 57 and 58: The brilliant remnants of dissemble
Page 59 and 60:
In Accordance With the Shared Visio
Page 61:
59
Page 64 and 65:
Imprints & Post-Scripture Arrival,
Page 66 and 67:
watching in waste’s rotation, a p
Page 68 and 69:
Watching - lines of your fingers in
Page 70 and 71:
... Captioning a void, formerly a v
Page 72 and 73:
choking on the pill and its packagi
Page 74 and 75:
Questions aren’t unasked nor dign
Page 76 and 77:
News Cycle Each day is a process of
Page 78 and 79:
we’re entrenched in impressions d
Page 81 and 82:
Part Six Post-Scripture 79
Page 83 and 84:
Status Interruptus The body resets
Page 85 and 86:
The Spirit Vacuum Exploitive concep
Page 87 and 88:
waking moments waged from fevered d
Page 89 and 90:
Thank you - Bob Medina, Melissa Mil
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Patterns

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