THREE POEMS from Bob Holman

Bird whistles worms dance
I am your little survivor, Baby.
The delicate penumbra of you
And your family’s belief system
Rocks me like the sea, deep
And deadly. Who needs narcotics
When I can make up with you
Or wake up and see you and wake you
Beside me. Wake up wake up
The emergency bellows of heaven
Are crying for a quick Apocalypse
Over your dead body. I will wake you
Because the Jews 30 A.D. wrapped the dying
And when he said the magic poem, up rose
Ol Lazarus like the so-called brain-dead
For a last slab of ecstasy.

Plunking on the banjo with you
On my knee. Digging up the jar
We planted in Tennessee.