Dah Helmer


My mind rambles
while digging up genetic details
something about
who, I, from, where, when

I link thoughts
to lifetimes
be it wisdom or the wooziness
rotation causes

swirling like a mix-tape
with repeat
buzzing like flies in jars

Many times I’ve started
to tell myself truths
not knowing how easily
I lie to myself

It begins with
concludes with
shots of whisky
maybe splintered words

which are never enough
like sky is never enough
It doesn’t matter who I am
or you

there are only two parts
life and death
both like bad accessories
rattling us

If I were smart
I’d slip an eye into a holy man’s
just to read the lies he tells himself





This isn’t what I had planned
for a poem
where words are direct
where nothing is resolved

One way of seeing
is to pretend goodness
is life’s continuum
even as the world is reduced

to functioning




It’s best to clean the drum skins
of sloth and silence
pound, pound, pound
and stomp our feet

in the crowded streets
where a unified womb
expands and delivers
a newborn that will not be stillborn