poem index

poet

Joseph Lease

by this poet

poem
        1

Property is death: they had a body crammed in a mailbox and it was just a brown suit with

poem

                  Try saying wren.

It's midnight

in my body, 4 a.m. in my body, breading and olives and
cherries. Wait, it's all rotten. How am I

poem
            Why don't people 
tell the truth—you scare people—genocide and 
how the rich got rich—even a bus shines 
differently in the light, the glowing 
splinters—why don't people talk more about 
the government and power—how do I know 
the rich can't sleep—promise me the rich can't 
sleep—