A Prayer for the Horned-Ones II

Trucks crush the pottery
            left out on the corner of E street,
            their tires roll-spit clay
            in the rolled up garage down the block
            the young man
his 2nd facial tattoo, 2 tears

“how to make a home-made prison
machine requires a few basic parts. . . .an old Walk
            a guitar string, an ink
pen,      an eraser, a tooth
brush, and some tape
                        hold it all together.”

This is the communion of each new fragment: “there are many [bodies], but this one is mine. My [body] is my best friend, it is
my life. Without me
my [body] is useless, without my [body] I am useless.” This is my

body. This is my tooth. These are my pains, and the pains I have given you.

O Mother Night, O Widow, passed love, little weaver of our world—wash out the sun with your tender mercy—birth this absence of light, give us something, we thousand, clamber to eat.


Michael Cooper

About Michael Cooper

Michael Cooper is an inland empire poet, PoetrIE member, CSUSB MFA Graduate, and father to two great sons: Markus & Jonathan. His book, coauthored with good friend Cindy Rinne, entitled Speaking Through Sediment, is now available from ELJ Publications. For more poems and ideas please visit his blog at https://poetcooper11.wordpress.com/

Bookmark the permalink.

Comments are closed.