two of my brothers gone to see that witch ohia.  cain, the older of the two, tells cain the younger:

best break the handle of that broom you insist to bring it.  

the neck of a goat pulses lastmost into a fence’s top wire.  

their way is lit by a river soaked in rabbits.  their impetus of road by an exodus of crow.

three ants they formerly would have stepped on are allowed to resume the full carriage of a cigarette.
a man they meet says he needs nothing but this here knife and that there trailing duck.  was the duck  
he says convinced him.  

because they are sad they let the man go and later the duck which would’ve spoken had they.

some of the houses less so but all are violent.  these two they recollect me in kind, an echo’s cough.

the older cain notes the dimming rabbits and pulls one for a fire and the younger cain reveals from his coat
a second to put over the first.  they eat gingerly as two sides of a dark hat tight to a frostbitten ear.

ohia is woe.  a prank of dialect.  how I  
 
could with this list of dry grotesqueries live a good market’s hour.  I would buy eggs and toilet paper.  hope
these two
believe that.