praise song

praise the Hennessy, the brown

shine, the dull burn. praise

the dare, the take it, the no face

you’re supposed to make.

praise the house, its many rooms,

hardwood and butter leather couches;

its richness. praise the rich, their friendship.

praise the friends: the child of the well off,

the child of the well off, the child of  well,

the child of welfare, the child of welfare.

praise the diversity but praise the Hennessy,

and again,           and again.           praise

the new year upon us. praise my stumble,

the shaky eye, the fluid arm, but the steady

hand. praise my hand, the burning it has.

praise the dive into the gut of a friend; the dousing

of my hand in his ribs. praise the softness of skin,

the way it always gives.

praise the pulling, the calming down.

praise the fuck that, the jump back into all

five of my friends fist first. praise all

five of my friends pinning me into the thick

carpet, knees in my back. praise my back,

how it hurts and raises anyway, how it flips,

how it’s the best friend of my fists.

praise the swinging pool cue, how it whips

air like a disobedient child, praise the disobedient

and all the chilling           i won’t do.

praise the child smile on my face, the fun

plunging a knee into a cheek of my best friend.

praise his blood, the brightness of it, a sun i bask in.

praise my blood, the nose flowing wild with effort,

the mess and taste of it, praise the swallowing,

salt and its sweetness.

praise the morning, the impossible blue,

Midwestern  January above us. praise

the blues dulled in my denim by all

the brown. praise the brown shine, the dull

burn.

praise all six in my jeans, our salt

and life sitting dry on my thighs

mixing, refusing to wash away.