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.