Who are the other mammals
with cloven cracked

chests who stitch
sharp darts 
in their flesh like I do?

I cannot celebrate or sing about this plot. The words that rise up are unfair, unjust, unholy. Truth tribunal, please commence; help us into a true story.

Sinéad, I hear that you’ve had or adopted four children. Is it true?

Will Enya who is childless come look after you?

I bought 20 flip phones at Walmart and activated them with phone numbers. This homeless camp was about to be swept by the city.

People without houses provide a gift to others when they ask for help. They give the opportunity to be of service. The chance to offer food or support is a valuable experience of selfhood. The ask lets us know a connection based on our basic survival needs as soft animals–our essential sameness.

Austin poet Abe Louise Young and Chicago poet Alan Shefsky exchanged over 3,000 intimate, playful, often-rhyming letters and ephemera over thirteen years, until Shefsky's death in 2014. At that time, Young created an art installation that displays 200 of those mailed pieces filling a space, which viewers can read and touch. It also offers a public letter-writing station filled with letter-writing prompts. Visitors have written over 400 letters.

I’m hung on a white wall for all perpetuity but
with three more branches could rough out a room
with a dirt floor and in would crawl a refugee mother
to nurse her baby in safety. Sew an old torn glove
of a cloud overhead to hide the moon’s belly.

He says, “There is so many peoples out here, but they’re invisible.”

“Do they have a trick? Are they like superheroes with invisibility power?” I ask.

“Yeah, like a cartoon, they’re superheroes. Regular folks can’t see them, but they’re here. There’s peoples living out everywhere you go. I’m lucky, I gets to be your yardman and live close by. But these invisible peoples ain’t never going away. They’re forever here.”