Aspen of Appalachia, away,
Bereft from bleating, brooding bovine.
Clay County contrives conspiracy
Doomed, darkened, deceitful. Directed
Eastward at Eastaboga’s emp’ror
Full of most fitting flight, fleeing from
God. Those good graces known given up,
Heartily, exchanged happenstance his
Immortal soul for idolatry.
Jeered at Jehovah, jested Jesus,
Kingdom keeping the kicked knaves knowing
Lowly that the Lord lash little at
Men who make ****** and mudwork made
Nightly. Nefarious no-goods now,
Open but not ostracized. Oh, old
People praise the past per penchant but
Quickly they quit; queerly quell their quest,
Running from redemption and rambling
So he stopped searching, got set soulless,  
Turned to the tantric, tuned to the tumult,
Unburdened with useless unknowns. Up
Verily and vivaciously, vet  
Words which will warrant wonder. Why not
*******, excellent, exuberant?
Yet, ye of yellow faith, yon Yahweh
Zeros the zest of zig-zagged zetas.

everything is sticky sweet in the summer
blackberries in the backyard bushes
and honeysuckle lips soft as the breeze
nothing quite as tender as morning molasses
oh, the way it sticks
to me

haaaay you???
you must got me some kind confused?
caused
i mean
did you think i was ever gonna love you,
trust YOU.
better gon'on find another little TRICK
to play cause i ain't no trick.
by gollie you better find you 'nother one.

High on'a farm,
make a needle biscuits
water-up sits creek
jostle potatoes,
pan-*** boiling
-with carrot cake.

Purple sky,
tractor runnin'
time of day,
sun low.

E'er body say,

"Why dou'a on'a farm?"

entered-dat du da future;
not Ford'ed fields.
Face it dou'a future,

"Dat future know it's place."

Sweet devils singin' to me,
sweetened tongue a' beautiful place. . .

"E'erthing set in place, ***** wit I say,
-dinner on-ma tray."

Give the David his due,
...give your devil to you?

When I wake before her
I set a *** of coffee
and let my ears catch gunshots

They say the old don’t sleep
that their lives sit too heavy in their heads
volumes full of names they’ve forgotten
and people outlived

At the edge of town hunters drag in doe
They are bulls towing a plow through ash
and bones

I am a boy at daggers with being
and I tell her I know nothing anymore

When she yawned it wasn’t sleep pulling at her
it was her dreams

school starts soon
smoking joints on the weekday afternoon

in a sidelined shady
freight car, property of
Norfolk Southern

debating if this car will be
northbound or southbound
and master-bating our fantasy
where we want to be taken

knowing full well maybe one of us -
(and they all looking at me)

will get out of this car and live to
see foreign places without having to
return in a body bag

we argue lazy who should go get the beer,
collect the quarters and sweaty dollar bills
and **** if I am not reappointed
leader of the beer fetching

besides it’s my
tan lab panting needing water so it’s my
responsibility and the nasty liquor store owner don’t hate me that much as the others so he’ll sell me beer without too much **** talk (some for sure)

asking where I’m laying low on a **** hot day like this one

tell him i’m getting on a train getting out of this two bit town which makes him reminisce and ask which direction

could be northbound could be southbound
hell could be west
but for sure won’t be
going eastbound

cause I seen the Atlantic and didn’t like it

too **** big and too **** cold,
too **** mean

Frame your Sunday brunch as a childhood sweetbit,
manufacture after the capture with more redflags;
pour relations after kith and kin with feigned hit.

The brunch is done and so is our agreement.
The contract is as napkin math, undone and smeared
***** lipstick and cigaretted.

Forget about it, the millennium came and went and gone.
All we have now is a time eerily similar to another
without the escape of waking up and wiping face with yawn.

Cumbersome troubles on our sleeves tattoo'd for self-expression.
But what did you need so badly to tell us about yourself, what lesson
shall we learn through the sifting of eyefucks in Starbucks.
Through the popular apathy of shrugged shoulders when mentioned Sisyphusian boulder.
"**** happens."
What else could?
And in your gleaning of brilliant observation on the banality of complaints.
What did you muster as axiom within your world-view of constraints?
Did your unfinished novel and penchant for humanities,
remove you further from nature than consciousness,
remove you further from what makes us you and me?
The condition we live in, despite temporal and generational
bridges,
hinges on the livings of lives.
The thrives and thrivings of not,
cannot be captured nor caught
within the shallow swaip of a Sunday portrait turned to the side for landscape.