Four hours after the training session, I’m still wearing my nametag.

Now I only think of Kansas City when I hear “Kansas City.”

During the night someone took my eyes and replaced them with smaller eyes.

How did it come to this: sap on my ass and no way to get it off.

Lying side by side, we are a Rorschach that won’t give up its secrets.

I ate the apple then picked out the seeds and swallowed them one by one.

The pomegranate had been sliced open; all I had to do was eat.

My dreams as heavy as oil; I wake up trying to remove the filth.

I sleep until ten: All the birds have stopped singing; sky full of pockets.

Seeds lay scattered on the sidewalk: a language we can read with our hands.

Page twenty-eight of Ginberg’s “Howl” bears my bite mark, and I wonder why.

I mourn my lost camera because my friend Jacob is inside it.

When I catch my reflection at a strange angle, I see a stranger.

I mistyped angle as angel and for a moment felt watched over.

I like pizza more than chocolate: further proof I’m really a man.

I pray to gods I don’t believe in because I want to be friendly.

Because I want to be friendly, I pray to gods I don’t believe in.

I read a story that uses “pussy” a dozen times on one page.

The Erotic Bakery reeks of cigarettes and has few baked goods.

Hey, why don’t we thumb through life backwards so we can start with the sex ads?

What’s injected into one person is injected into us all.

This is my American Sentence for Troy Davis. Rethabile has asked that we write American Sentences today as a way of protesting Davis’ execution. Poetry most likely will not change what will happen to Troy, but it does allow us to keep from being silent about what’s going to happen to Troy. And, by extension, to us all.

We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. — Elie Wiesel

I have counted myself among the silent more often than I care to admit. — Dana Guthrie Martin

Harley Davidson: Brush your teeth, call it a shower, let’s ride baby.

Beyond the cherry trees, a wet Bank of America parking lot.

Someone’s written “No” all over the elevator walls: No, No, No.