The following is a transcript of the Barack Obama inaugural poem recited by Elizabeth Alexander, which I thought was great:

Praise song for the day.

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others’ eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, “Take out your pencils. Begin.”

We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, “I need to see what’s on the other side; I know there’s something better down the road.”

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by “Love thy neighbor as thy self.”

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp — praise song for walking forward in that light.

His knee pain, literally means, see:
A Single Leg to Stand On;

Swimming so erratically,
He’s Struggling In Classes That Are Nothing To Know

Symptoms last time,
Branded In the Rib Like a Sacrificial Heydey Savior

Her freedom sexually seems like

“The Demons You Helped Seed Have Newfound Meaning for Me”

You know, Like parents spending lives
In Affair after Affair after Affair

Like a Man who Can imagine
What Its Like To Be Cuckholded

Like a Man Who Can Imagine
She Wants More Of It Than Just Him

Like a man, who’s small AND little
defeated from that day on.

So, it’s not that he doesn’t want that for her
It’s a Just a Big Bunch of Pride To Swallow
And Fear and Shame and Sadness in which to Wallow.

Unless, you two kids are truly in love,
And then, in that case,
Act like Abraham and Prepare For The Next Morning.

Who is “I”?
The “me” that I know
Lives outside
Myself,
Just to the left
Of center.
Encased
Defined
Concerned
Encircled
Empty.

In the palms of my father’s hands
In the borders that police no man’s land
I searched the lines for you

In the mean and cold places, wrinkled faces, brutal races
at the bases of mesas and in cases where embraces replace spaces
I searched what’s right for you

In the ash where embers once glowed
In the paths that my sisters sowed
In the breeze of my mind’s delight
In the warmth of my lovers light
In the bones of the beasts I eat
flesh of this craft, into submission beat
I worked this night for you

Save the bullheads from the plot
Pocketed bullets from the sailor’s lot
Some burned pigs, wandering, lost there
Tooth marked (and concerned with welfare)

Mark the boundary with weeds
Buried treasure, in walls, unseen
But with destruction, uncovered
Voodoo (our time there discovered)

No-one mentions Athel trees
And the fact that they don’t have
any leaves
Why do I want to go back there?
Voodoo (and concerned with what’s bare)

Pare thin sentence from wry thought
Filter sand from these dry locks
Nestled tightly in his breath
Lies (the truth, adjacent depth)

Extracted vassal of the Rock
Shorn in lands without a flock
Consumed and sculpted by child’s care
Voodoo (and concerned with black hair)

Still, like the drifting desert sand Mojave knew.
Dull, as the rusting cars there stand, Mojave blued.
Eyes, wide open, tears run.
Wild!
Try. Try. Try. She’s never coming home.

What was I thinking when you were sinking?
(Where was my head? Where were my hands? Where was my heart?)
Traded them in on pieces of tin.
(What did you do? What did you do? What did you do?)

Hold me, heaving, scold me.
Tired, torn, buck-toothed and dead
Break me (I’m tired) take me
This, the end.

Disown me – hostile zone me.
Railroad tie me to my bed.
Break me, desert, shape me.
Break me, desert rape me.
Break me, desertscape.
Mojave knew me then.

Slight, like the scent of Grandville’s ground; Mojave Jew.
Gaunt as the lizard skins we found; Mojave bruised.
Guise an omen: near spanned miles!
Try Try Try. She never got control.

What was I thinking when you were sinking?
(Where was my head? Where were my hands? Where was my heart?)
Traded them in on pieces of tin.
(And what did you do? What did you do? What did you do?)

Hold me, heaving, mold me.
Tired, torn, buck-toothed and dead
Break me (I’m so tired) take me
This, the end.

Disown me – hostile zone me.
Railroad tie me to my bed.
Break me, desert, take me.
Break me, desertscape me.
Break me, desert-raped.
Mojave new me then.

Why?

You love to like
The need to leave but
Cannot face the need to be

Free.

So hope becomes the frailest fortress
Around the slightest of these vain things
That, elitist brother
feeds your pleasure

Breathe.

Draggin’ my ass from Kansas City
Looking for a quick score, a ride and some pity
No luck with the pity hunt, just a ride from this stuck up cunt
And of all places, she kicked me out here.

So I wander the alleys of this piss of a town
Except for one, lights off at midnight all around
Just need a car or truck or some kind dumb luck
Got to get away from Kansas City.

Late night summer knock
Occupant opens the door
Claw hammered forehead
Retarded on the floor.

Arc of blood spatter
Grey of brain matter
Swoop and then thud
Handle drips blood

Father asleep in the back
Didn’t hear the first hammer attack
Lay there dreaming of God knows what
Lobotomized that sleeping fuck

Arc of blood spatter
Grey of brain matter
Swoop and then thud
Handle drips blood

Arc of blood spatter
Grey of brain matter
Yah yah yah. It’s the Stanley cup of home improvement.

Most of the trees I’ve planted since then were mature –
Strong, healthy specimens that cost a pretty penny.
They all started to die after the first winter.
I cut them down into two foot long pieces for the trash man.

I don’t know if the Cherry Tree I planted
Provides fruit to its admirers or shades their surroundings.
But I know it reminds me of my first child crawling in the grass
Towards me as I planted it in the lawn so many years ago.