Home
There was that daisycutter mouth
Where children played
To the rules of the ante-bellum south

More the brushing the teeth
Than the drying of her tears
Was she

More than life
The boxing of cowboy boots boxed carefully
She’d gone with an oyster-man’s knife

Under the dry-tonguèd sounds of that seaside town
Memories of others and dreams of broken brothers
Populated with dry-lungèd doctors and secretaries

That bet ponies at the track.

say something nice ... or not

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s