take this hair
from off my back
give each strand from my burning head
as a poem      a song
to the ground to a child to hands of sundrenched eggs
to a dog’s hazy jumping eyes to teeth of wood & biscuits
to this tree that will be cut down in the spring
to fingers of brass steel copper mahogany poplar & maple
to a voice of highways & sand to an aching temple
to lemons & cinnamon coconut oil & apple cider vinegar
to small horses & fattened cows to pigs ready for slaughter
to a living made from coal to vacations & early retirement made from steel
i give my hair to coffee
to a river
to the same old saints





Jack Martin lives in Scottdale, a rural town in southwestern Pennsylvania.  He is a musician—plays drums & acoustic guitar, and sings in dive bars.









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