Eric Cockrell Poems

i am, become...
i am the dust
of the Great Depression,
the bodies falling from windows,
...

Sunday morning redemption...
black coffee and cigarettes,
the silence that only Sunday brings.
the week behind, jumbled and lost.
...

i am, become...
in closing...
what i wanted to do
with this series was
...

i am, become...
i am the African slave
working in the deep Mississippi sun;
his eyes, his muscles, his back, his heart,
...

walking through the wetness,
rain falling softly.
the rhythm of the wipers,
the trees bow to the wind.
...

someone sent me a letter,
and asked me if i was black or white, , ,
i cut my finger, signed my name
in blood at the bottom,
...

i pray, therefore i am.
i work, therefore i am.
i give, therefore i am.
i get knocked down,
...

is the bridge to the past
really the chain that holds us?
have we spent all of our lives,
running to or running from?
...

i'm just not going to support your wars anymore,
i will not believe your propaganda.
i will not swallow your political lies.
i will not adhere to your moral and legal codes.
...

we collide,
rogue stars travelling darkness,
upper lip and bottom lip,
the knife and the flesh.
...