Somebody got a shotgun from Santa
If I craved loud noise I would move to Atlanta
They've fired it every ten seconds
At least they seem to be firing in the opposite
direction
Woe unto me , the southern holiday firearm obsession* ...

Bite the bullet.

A muddy boot,
A ****** boot
In the pimpled
Face of Some kid;
The barking
Goes on.

And they ask
Why I do not
Care, and I
Just shrug;
The barking
Goes on.

Hunger in the
Streets and in
Their media-
Rotted minds;
The barking
Goes on.

Faces split at
The seams, eyes
Peering At the
Scenes and I wonder;
The barking
Goes on.

The youth they
Snort and cuss
And the joints
Are passed around;
The barking
Goes on.

Birdshot in a
Brother's eye,
A blind dove
***** its wings;
The barking
Goes on.

And they ask
Why I do not
Cry, and I
Just shrug;
The barking
Goes on.

The poor get
Even poorer as the
Man on television
Shouts and moans;
The barking
Goes on.

Droopy eyes lost
Their spark as the
Fire dies and we
Linger in the dark;
The barking
Goes on.

A youngster jailed
For a bag of hash,
As an old man rubs
A girl half his age;
The barking
Goes on.

And I bite the bullet,
And I bite the bullet
And hail the beard
And hail the stars;
And the barking
Goes on!

I tell myself one life
must yield to another:
fly to spider,
spider to bird,
bird to birdshot.

I tell myself one life
must, in the full course
of a day relinquish itself
to another savage dawn,
fall as each unbidden

yesterday fell, bleak
and ungrieved, twisted
on a rack of tomorrows
no more certain than a silk
spooled about a winch.