Listen to this here.
Down South, there is no 'O' in violence,
nor in those flowers, mostly wild
and all but gone this time of year,
only the sinewy vine of an 'I,'
clinging, curling round, the cold grin,
the little giggle.
The big laugh, the 'O' in god
down South.
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Listen to this here. These hungry
ReplyDeletemouths, knives and forks blinking
as they settle at the table and wait.
Down South, there is no 'O' in violence,
nor in those flowers, mostly wild
and all but gone this time of year,
only the sinewy vine of an 'I,'
clinging, curling round, the cold
grin, the little giggle.
The big laugh, the 'O' in god
down South. Say grace. Like Hell.
Listen to this here. These hungry
ReplyDeletemouths, knives and forks blinking
as they settle at the table and wait.
Down South, there is no 'O' in violence,
nor in those flowers, mostly wild
and all but gone this time of year,
only the sinewy vine of an 'I,'
clinging, curling round, the little cold
grin. The big laugh, the 'O' in god
down South. Say grace. Like Hell.
Listen to this here. These hungry
ReplyDeletemouths, knives and forks blinking
as they settle at the table and wait
forever on this old reel to reel.
Down South, there is no 'O' in violence,
nor in those flowers, mostly wild
and all but gone this time of year,
only the long sinewy vine
of an 'I,' clinging, curling
round, the cold grin,
the little giggle. The big laugh,
the 'O' in god
down South,
back home.
Say grace.
Like Hell.