So much trouble
floating in the air.
Not an owl now, scratchy
bourbon who-who.
Her name trailing after that
plantation in that book.
Burnt and about
as easy to find.
I’ve got a new way of spelling
sweet old Dusieville.
Soaking goose liver in honey
and milk makes it larger.
Then you scare me with dreams
so that my soul chooses
strangling, as a drifter
wants the gate, the shadow.
I know I got some friends.
I know I got some friends don’t
mess by the ditch at night.