Love tore my throat in moment fleeting
as crimson heralded the dawn
a pretty penny paid his choosing,
then left my little ones to mourn.

My mind recalls his treasured whispers
while here I lay in sweet decay
cursed by the nature of my Mister,
now hidden from the light of day.

Though worms they feed upon my beauty
and soil has caked my raven hair
my soul remains in chains beside him,
on darkest nights he feels me there.

In terror now he wakes from dreaming
my name a scream that fills the room
his eyes meet mine and sweetly smiling
I pull him down to meet his doom.

In the Deep South
There is always a woman
In an apron calling out to her kids
Warning them to hurry in
Or the corn bread might get cold
The kids couldn’t care either way
And at their age
Food doesn’t taste as good as
The marshes feel around their ankles

They’re just young enough to be nourished
Off of adventure alone
With sticks in hand
Grazing the tops of half-way grown
Up to their heads wheat

In the Deep South the outside
Is still the Wild West
Where you can walk a few blocks
From your front yard
To deserted boulevards
You can’t but a greeting card
From.
And among all the untamed
Nature and desolate fields and lakes
There is so much space
For kids to create

In the Deep South
Kids see broken down Chevys
As breeched kingdoms
Open fields as battle grounds
Littered with rocks that look like grenades
Every vacant marsh a ****** planet
Where you use overall clasps
As radios to your fellow astronauts.

Why would anyone be in a rush
To come home
To something so real
As Mama’s cornbread.