OH FINOLA Hughes, might it not be like it used to be when we were so much in love with each other? Ours was one laden in mystery, sequestered in mansions. My fanciful ways, your hill-billy heritage, my tender feelings, your brusque manners, my girlish finger-pointing, your fist to the throat. My heart is aching --- I think it’s angina or the confidence of strengthless this-that, our match was no soft-tissue injury nor Baptist night out.
   She slapped me in my donuts &
touched them inappropriately too.
   Look where the bird got me! He got me on the leg. He was
aiming for my face. Thank God I hid my face behind my leg.
   The sun shines upon the ungrateful, rain waters the
crops of the spiteful, God’s love flourishes in camps.