Andrew Michael Roberts

---

in the heart's lost and found a little tuba

and now a tenderloving
bullet to the brain, lord.

let's bird by crimson
bird uncage the flock

i've kept perhaps unfairly
these devoted years,

and watch them
unfurl and fanning out

against the sun.
and wave, and wish

happy birthday to them,
brief and bright

and sleepy, full of
so much cake

for the girl in the dress made of flies

here in suck city
it hasn't stopped
raining since 1982,
where a whole
generation
of gentiles
has no idea
what the sky looks like,
or what surprises
god's got going
behind that mean old
curtain of clouds.
but one day you
watch, it will be
everybody's birthday,
and we'll rip that
damn wrapper down
to reveal a jesus
so velvetly bright,
with those sun-golden
curls unfurled
like a staircase.
and they say
you can take
one thing with you,
so believer
you bring me
and lover
i'll bring you.

---

Andrew Michael Roberts grew up on a small farm in Elma, Washington, home of the slug festival, in the shadow of a bankrupt nuclear power plant. He spent his formative years searching the woods for sasquatch and running long distance. He now lives in Portland, Oregon, where he is a cyclist, a library regular, and a poet. You can find his books at andrewmichaelroberts.blogspot.com.