dreams that never went away
a land of cotton with a memory
held close like lovers mementos
whispered quietly in board rooms that smell
of linen & avarice living quiet lives at
the dinner parties of judges where DA’s bring
California wines as tokens the memory of
cotton dances on soft summer breezes over
golf courses and brunches at country clubs
where tanned blonde women work on their back swings
contemplating inheriting grandmother’s Tiffany diamonds
the ones with the freshwater pearls cotton has water dreams
transatlantic bottom of the ocean dreams that scream
in my neighborhood sometimes silent muffled cries
sometimes no noise escapes lips hold the pain down inside where it cuts like
rusty scissors infections are frequent
you can hear cotton screaming out loud
sirens and random howls punctuated
by gunfire as life exits snares cotton laid centuries ago then silence
cotton has a memory recorded on white sheets in high places
makes absolution in hoods drinks holy water while
burning crosses in the name of martyr tied to a crucifix praying
to distract the watchful while cotton leverages its nightmares
cotton has not slept for years may not be prayerful but is ever awake
sins of the father’s greed in the heart fear of retribution require
protection from reciprocity
blood on the ground hexes best cotton
thinks cotton knows that even if we can not afford to remember
we will never forget so cotton remembers to remember
hoping we melt in the smelting pot drink the kool aid forget to remember or disappear
cotton knows sleeping dogs wake up hungry why not sheep lions & people
scarred by cottons crooked crossings cotton’s caravan in the ocean dreams
& cotton’s relentless vigilance
cotton documents archives studies researches
plans to maintain contain by any means
wants to know what you remember wants to know if you are comfortable asleep
cotton says its not important to remember best survive right now
cotton remembers
it remembers simpler times
bills of sale
when the buildings on wall street were
single story centers of industry
when life was a song sung
by a field gang on
a quiet night
in picking
time
cotton
remembers