Three poems by Nic Sessions

Three poems
by Nic Sessions

Move your lips up and down like this

Sandwich in my system the bologna burnt with mustard so tart
Bird with a feather crooked the worm still wiggling my oh my

Hot, day hot, the temperature the sweat beads off forehead of jesus on a
post of wood
Petition signs bouncing the people have bands of rainbow with the rights
of gays written bold

Cake like this moist crawling web Political fever in the sleep of
children of blue and red states
Stand up like you want a job dear fellow while we all brush your dirty
brown backside skin

Kid with the name Janis read a book with the letter A painted maroon in
it and it does fit
Southern bama, western caverns, eastern bookie note pads, northern snow
movers

Taking for granted that jello bowl of boiled then hardened sweet dessert
America the movies, rapid waterway paths, sealed milk gallons, glass
bottle beer and ill celebs

Burn that flag and eat those damn worn out stars chewing that fabric
like a lost daughter with a male organ
Immerse your whole self and slide the gun in a leather holster by your
side and shoot the sky until you aim

Angel with a beard falling ugly from the cloud brim hurt and thankful
the secret was told and now
No matter the office you win do not stop touching broken hands and
please, remember to load that smith Wesson

+++++++++++++++++++++

As you like it

White of torn out the face elephant tusks
A collar, femur, tub of nasal passage
Scooped as pumpkin atop newspaper
Innards full with slimed debris
Heavy weighted red finger, forearm, elbow stain
Knife, hanger, vacuum
Scissor, cleanse, suction, sweep, check
Yes, check please, and No
Allah, john smith, buddha, phelps and god
Got nothin’, deserve nothing
Nothin’ but nothing of any say
When it comes to your
Hidden cervix.

++++++++++++++++++++

God help him

JESUS, not the cross crawler, but a plain man of probable latino
descent, just
Jesus in a house with green shutters and green creamed hue carpet but no
Green card

Bad, bad, darn dang real bad and sad kind of but mostly just a real bad
Darkening, not green but black like Iraqi family of three slit and
shoved and burned
Real bad, darkened skin and not a coming back Dark. The kind of dark
that mothers cry to
Jesus, not the man but the actual stick dragger and he does hear

So driftwood, hardwood, redwood and broken wood it is all the same just
different in price and
Name but all together the same family and the same and blame the real
shame of warring stars with faded stripes, some state this nation is a
bucket of dripping shame, still from the Slavery, sixties, double
thousands then and now so slow, slow, slow down tax maker please
realize this scene

Jesus with that wood is brittle so stop your kneeling just light a
match, because the one, by one we mean numerous and plenty, that one
Jesus the man your neighbor possibly your true savior, he is a bullet
and discharged with worn shell casing, skin, he she it them, gets
treatment No more different than them horned head martyrs of past years
and years and years and forest fire and fire.

Author bio:

Nic Sessions attends Kansas State University and plans on pursuing a M.F.A and Phd. in Creative Writing.