June 2018

Just when he thought to loom the backyard for bud &
Just when he came to admire, or thought to dote over
Already he rues stick-thin arms, whose petals brave the late
Whose middles freeze; we’ve gone without
All ramose till now, empty skirts...

The Ozarks are where defeated assassins, the unholy,
and monsters come to retire.
The proper soil and crooked moonlight grow back
the disemboweled, the decapitated,
while we collect arrears in child support for our demi-god children.

The procession of taillights lined deep down the logging...