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Tag Archives: Justin Rogers
1. You would think an abandoned train station twenty stories into the Detroit skyline, busted window infested clear to the other side would be demolished by now, but not everything needs to fall victim to us neocolonialists who recognize preserving … Continue reading
My childhood is a Cinnabon from Fairlane mall, its glaze a fountain whose vanilla foam consumes my chin. bread warm like the love from black sitcoms that make you wonder how love could ever be Bill Cosby-cozy in reality. Cinnabon means Good Times means good food. means stopping at Foot Locker actually leaving with new Addidas this time following up with a movie accompanied by a bag of Reese’s Pieces. All of this means mom got paid this week which really means my childhood is biweekly as long as there are no bigger obligations which really means my childhood is only relevant during the months mom is not spending on her boyfriend or ones where maybe there is no boyfriend only repeated Tyreese CDs, staying up past 9pm watching her rediscover the way Newports can bridge the gap between relationships me, eating the Cinnabon she could not finish because it reminded her too much of everything my father was supposed to be to her. Justin Rogers is a Detroit-based poet, visual artist, and educator. Finding … Continue reading
Mid-argument with your spouse Leave; Kneel in a closet. Praise Him. Repent Saturday night’s club where danger of being moshed into hardwood is worth the heaven in its splinters. Search for Him in the storage racks of a Walmart backroom at midnight. Lie face down on your daughter’s sticky bedroom floor; Let her pray out loud, no matter how slim her vocabulary; Hands in air nose to hell when asked How you are so sure any god exists. Write about angels. Send to your non-believing friends. Look for bible verses in a vacant lot full of creatures that have no idea what sin looks like. Sing worship in a language miles from comprehension but that you know is far more beautiful than your own. Mold a pulpit out of a loft window at dawn in downtown Chicago, where everyone is ready for work but no one finds the brakes long enough to praise it. Pray barefoot upon the cold marble of of an ancient Roman cathedral where all of the tourists will steal your blessing. … Continue reading