I knew You'd be good

FLOCKPRINTER

by Buddy Wakefield

Flockprinting is an aggressive electrostatic action
using severe heat to force finely chopped fibers
onto patterns of fabric
ultimately resulting in
soft touch.

When they told You that this was your assignment
You flockprinted straitjackets and suits of armor.
So I asked if you wanted to trade jobs
because damn, baby,
that
is poetry.

And yeah, these arms fell backwards
when ya did it
chest outstretched
open to the way you palms up turn me.

I knew You’d be good.
I just didn’t know how good.

Even before we met
when the assignment was to draw words
with their own literal meanings
I would write out each letter of the word LOVE
using winning halves of wishbones, melted Crayons
and the toe tips of the great dancers who’ve quit dancing
because I don’t give up on shit like that.
I always knew I’d find You.

Even before we met,
when the assignment was to partner up in ice water, and keep our heads above it
I’d watch boys with girls take the shallow end of the 8th grade
like
suckerfish
swapping skin deep aquarium air tubes
trying to make each others shivers fit.
We don’t swim that way.
Never gonna.

You have been a long time comin’
and the clouds have rolled You in slowly.
But I ain’t mad at the upshot sky.
Rain,
it’s my lucky number.
It’s the author of release.
It taught me monsters are easy to come by
so I went out and found the beast
before we met.
When the assignment was to incomplete myself
with sad songs and recycled insults,
when I was spun out eyes bagged teeth fist first in lust and considering Jesus,
You were there.
You have been the whole journey
and I ain’t got nothin’ against goin’ home
to You,
Flockprinter.

You look good in yer tidal wave,
toe-to-toe with the mean blue moon,
head raised up like a lighthouse.

You are buttercups spraying
out the mouths of doves,
fireworks stuck in the air.
You’re a freestanding landing pad held together by choir claps.
You’re a god
not afraid
to walk with the saviors
who ride monkeys around on their backs
kicking up mercury
spreading upward openly,
carrying breath.
Well.

You’re an18-stringed guitar heart sparkin’
off roots dancing out of the river’s edge.
You walk like a free country
with an affinity for thick skin.
You live
humming to the tune of let loose like a railway
banging through the middle of Novocain,
an open winded under water fire escape.

Flockprinter,
You have, now are, and always will be
my reflection of individuality
carried out by the acoustic drift
of a snowflake…
livin’ with a fingerprint.

And I
am rumble motion jawbone
waterlogged with ink spots
smiling ear to ear
armed with backbone and busted zoo gates
promising You
from the bottom of my harmonica pocket
forever,
You will never have another lonely holiday.

Even now,
where the assignment is to live without a destination,
I end up with You and the rain, released.
Both,
flockprinting stars
between me and the beast.