Chump and churl am I
choking blood from the legs.
Locked knees, and all, y’know?
With the caps covered in
folded flesh
like a kid-licked bottom lip while
light-headed and hot.
I stand in the shower
hold M’sippi’s Mud
in one hand
memories of you
in the other.
Takin’ my sweet time.
Cicisbeo for palms to see
but a five-fingered picker
for the rest of ‘em
while porchin’ it
in the cold
rolled out in the mountains of
Idaho’s wolves and brotherhoods.
Smoke signals to the future
howled up from a “Haah!
Help-us-figure-it-out”
held in first to
hit the hardest.
Songs sent
to the outskirts callin’
home
the loose skin that
left us
alone.
I keep a’pluckin a knot of knuckled skills.
And we talk all about it
then we talk about it all.
then we talk about it all.
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