I promised you words, I promised you nothing. I didn’t promise anything.
Place is one-two punch two three,
for my face bursting out after
even erasure leaves a trace. Complicates escape.
Dug deeped severed,
twisted all together,
splish splash spray, *yeah.*
I went camping!
On the drive to Mesaba in Morthern Minnesota, I killed a sandbear,
so I tried to rescue a dragonfly from a web.
With sticky strands gumming its wings, I did little but prolong its doom. And take pictures.
Why not favor the spider? asked Sam.
Because I am the spider.
Full moons, loons and fireflies,
day flat broke.
July third I attended a one hundred year farmstead anniversary celebration slash reunion of step-blood shooting guns drinking beer and waving old glory. This, too, is America. The boys in the field hunt for unshattered pidgeons.
Light fuse, get away.
Along the gravel road at Grandma’s,
shooting myself in the back of the head.