Ripping overwrought sod from the beginning of your namesIn the noon sun, the mud of men who made me unmade again
Moonstone crusted over and the only stone clear my father’she gave the gift of life noon mud made and unmade the sun’s name
My grandfather gave all of his sons the same middle name aside from my father who made a name of a dead sun
We think our surname is borrowed from an aristocratic man who died on the boat fleeing famine, another island made mud
Again the lines are blurred, shoulda been a Carlos, a Cassius,A sea serpent making unmade men whole in my throat of names
I pull up grass and till the day up, drag dry weeds from urn dirt pile the stalks like my many names for gravestones and suns
My name a groundswept amalgamation of inventory and fact God carved these dog tags into the cemetery with a pickaxe.