from Alabama Inmate Notes | Richard Hamilton
11
I'm from Van Dyke's home city. My family's blue-collar.
13
In the dream, my body pinned to your context can neither role play nor perform the stunt. Of dying, and needing a new body, I pummel for what's left of an organic apple sitting on the black round table deliberating over fish or chicken tonight. Over whether to write a bad check for some eggs and a brownie. Either way, the dinner is foiled thinking about you. On the master copy of my body and whose right it is to take: Letter #1: Be honest. Letter #2: I'll never grow fond of this place. Letter #3: Hardly much could hurt me here.
14
Keep sex and friable body separate, but equal. Next time you visit the weight pile, say that, and get your head cracked.
16
All those loops and repetitions come straight out a child's mouth.
17
Laugh. Everyday. Dark. Pride. Saddens. Smile. Believe. Shine. Laugh. Past. Joy. Dance. Blinded. Clown.
Look. Past. Foolishness. Laugh.
18
I write about the sea the sod when snicker wags a tail at me and chases anything that moves among the monkey grass and tea when good old Snicker loses sight the sun the buzzing of a bee become the tail old Snicker rides until the land becomes the sea a buzzing brackish little sea old Snicker jumps from tree to tree and happy wags along the grass and fast he trails the buzz the bee just as a sailor would the sea he catches hold and nabs the bee but under some great mystery zips out from under Snicker's paw and whirs about his angry maw while squinting sniffing mowing grass til buzz and bee are on his tail and stings poor Snicker
on the ass
19
I am lonely, starving for emotional intimacy, femininity, affection. Just then a ready-made hand shoves a metal plate through the dark in my cell. The sound is of man with a black bag covering his face being led down the hallway to chamber music. Doves fluttering polish the iron chair. In the dream, you are dressing my calf in lamb's ear, lighting tea candles, my hand to the psalm. Throw me a rope. Quick before water and book. I've had many courses in critique and lie down in my feather bed. My head near the seams of pigskin thread, taut. It's a black psalm, a psalm for the lonesome visitors.
20
Lay me down, Frog. In the valley of my shadow. In the alley, for the valley of my shadow of death. For the whole of my youth. Lay down, Frog. Rest.