No one stays long
in the house of the bereaved

The hounds are lonely tonight
but not the priest

I dream I am still
in Tennessee grieving

Drinking moonshine
and branch water
looking for a fight

The undertaker creeps out
of the farmer's daughter's room

His wife beats a spider
with a broom then sweeps

When Death beats his child
nobody listens to her weep

My mother used to beg,
Son, don't write about Death,
We'll cross that ditch soon enough

I have nothing but respect
for the dead, I said

But there is no doubt in my mind
Death is a bad dog, a real *****.

What have we done?
We plucked the apple from its place.
Its vivid reds begin to turn.
Should we have left it where it hung?
Fruits in sacks for profits sake.
From something more we've made a game.
Though in futility have never won.
Instead of enjoying we make it a race,
while covering her pure skin in lace.
Our forest fell and now burn.
The smoke is agitating my lungs.
Cities pollute our pristine lakes.
The ignorance of a few is now far flung.
Pray to christ for we are lame.
Yet you I will not blame
before myself because I've acquiesced.
No longer! Run with me,
and we'll correct our past mistakes.
Ridding ourselves of pestilence
togeather lets build a future beyond all imagining.

All of these words
formed without breath
is magic against death
and all of this ends
with to be continued
I wave so long
with a handkerchief
to the horses on the range
of my dreams
and every scene is sculptured
from wood with splintered
fingers ruptured
with the blood of my brothers.

My father and I
lie down together.

He is dead.

We look up at the stars,
the steady sound
of the wind turning
the night like a ceiling fan.

This is our home.

I remember the work in him
like bitterness in persimmons
before the first frost,
and I imagine the way he feared
the pain, the ground turning
dark in the rain.

Now he gets up
and I dream he looks down
into my brown eyes
that may as well been his.

He weeps and says goodbye,
my son, I don't want to
go yet, but I can't wait
around to watch you die.