dolly

No more to conceal here.

Revealed in the revel of clover’s dance with downy kissed-away days.

Spring’s messy with flutter.

Dover’s just another place to drive down from.

Hurry.

The saw’s playing just for us.

Pie for breakfast.

It can’t all be over.

More or less than anything else around.

The two and only.

Used and left sober as this.

Aches rust another dusk to arrive at.

Fled to dying ways.

Curls that never curve all the way back around.

Write it down so you won’t remember it.

Strummed to shadows and starrier fields.

Never a thing to get hung up all over on.

Waiting’s just the wings I’ll never use.

Flapped from hard places to never-shown faces.

Momma’s hording rock’n’roll’s kitsch.

It can’t not be anything but done.

Record player play me to sleep.

I’m behind all the wheels with my homemade guitar.

Never too far from a one-room cabin in Locust Ridge.

Just south of Pentecostal.

On the slope of dirt poor.

Daddy paid my way into the world with a bag of oatmeal.

I’ll fight my way out if it with holy grit and guts.

Aunt Granny’s in the attic again.

Writing whisky-soaked lullabies for rubes.

So put that twelve-gauge in your prayers.

Boys.

I’m coming for you with a shovel and a rye smile.

Don’t forget the way all lilies tend to bend.

Down the deepest drams in town.

We’ll all be playing pretend.

This next or last time around.