"I swear, the sun rose early today,"
you went a’whisperin’ on the roof.
Hands behind your head watching
orange become blue – I agree.

The lightpost out front shines blue
‘fore horizon eats the sky for keeps.
We pose red tiger lilies in the soil
as the sun elopes with morning.

Garage with an iron stove
and a growing wood stock.
Two beds pushed together.
Yea, these are frosty nights.

Dreamin’ of lilies, leg hairs,
moths and swoopin’ bats,
noses with honest angles,
leg squeezin' that be thigh
squeezin' before dying fires.
Hair’s a bit dry, then damp.
Callouses show guitar string
familiarity. Just as before,
you’re quiet. A sunset
approaches, rarity.
Stoking the fire
until the room
grows cold,
rare and raw
in deed and in action.
Intrepid and convoluted.
Purposeless language so thick
and unable to expression o’makin’!
Non-motion! Unbeauty and polluted flair!
I spit words like curses at the bee-stingin’ burn!
Ain’t been no words like those I spat as his Luckiest Strike
met my forearm. And the pain fades. And my arm crossin’ over his.
I can tell by the look on his face as I take his mark away – No regrets!

Skinny as an ostrich thigh. Hair bristled and wet.
Grass dying under the pressure of bare feet.
No climactic conclusion or sequel to undefeat.
“Take a dip in the ditch right creeping to dawn.”*

Spitting into shot glasses
until we both set it straight.
Thunder claps before lightning leaps skyward.
Well-steeped tea makes a brown into tan
into clearest of steam,
filling up the kettle.
How anxious.
So anxious.