THE GREAT T-PLEX

It’s been two days since I’ve stumbled
upon this den of happy thieves.
I found you clustered around a 30 pack
with hand rolled smokes
after a long days work
switching seats among the bike frames and the shovels
on slabs of plywood and chunks of concrete.
The carnival music of an amateur
lifted from a second hand organ
& stirred up the sweet funk
of righteous punks.

My head was weary from a long day’s ride
crossing borders in the summer’s maddening heat,
but I felt at home
in the shambly mellow of the great T-Plex.

Before the rich light faded from Detroit’s brick facades,
you told me stories
of what is important,
what you are afraid of,
& what you still dare to dream.

Your music came easy
with plenty of hands
to thump on home made rails
or strum steel by the fire.


This place is not perfect
The missing chunks of dry wall
& all the little holes we carry within
are remnants of countless projects
left unfinished,

But it is extraordinary.
It is unique and fierce,
this home of humble warriors
& raucous revolutionaries
for whom action is not a choice
as breathing is not a choice
it becomes the only way to fully exhale.

You are the freaks who resist
who daily create new space out of the imagination
seasoned with old wisdom
to find out what happens
when you insist on an existence
that allows you to stretch all our little veins and listen
to the thumps in our bones
to figure out
what is this capacity for life.


So I thank you,
for teaching me new pronouns
to fill the gaps between he and she.
For leading me to your garden,
filling my bowl with soup,
and reeking of strength through your confusion.

You’ve provided an essential space
where travelers like myself
can rest away from home
& find that small spot in corners of our souls
that is still open to rejuvenation

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