The Day a Cast of My Own Failures Rocked Me, and: Two Pit Bulls & a Bone, and: Fuh Da Summa, and: What Deer Season Means to Me, and: p r i d e

The Day a Cast of My Own Failures Rocked Me

Suppose we were there for some eventwe did not want in on or did. Faith flung

so hard, the cage I felt around me wasno cage, just fear, in a summer-long wither;

an idea much too small for our believin' atthe time. Suppose bendin' to kiss his cold,

thick feet, will ever mean anything. How feetof men, kissed by men, sounds biblical.

How the occasion sought to vandalize our mostunderdressed prayers, which aided the gathered,

who were too heavy to be lifted and howdo you say lift when the moment is bent

on your fall? Suppose a god's eyes fell yellowin your clean face, where doctors have to

stand there, helpless as you, with all thosefutile books stacked in their heads; benighted

by the hour and this deteriorating conclusion.I think it was Mother Hayes who'd started

closin' all the blinds and my first thought, "somefolk deal in metaphor subconsciously." Suppose

all this leavin' was comin' and we couldn'tbrace for anything if we wanted, where

somethin' to hold onto, hurries to mirage itselfinto your late pseudo-rescue. Our eyes rained

salt into the dumb silence. The vitals,a fast stage curtain, falling, where the lead

never makes it back out to bow and there'sno encore to quell these sobbing ovations.

Two Pit Bulls & a Bone

It is difficult to bark whilethe teeth are clinched

so it goes, deep growlafter mean-ass growl

and tug. The oldest holdsher jaw low and doesn't

cease her pull and the mudslings but not the thing

the dogs won't let go of.Scraped, inedible and nothing

is left on the bone thatis no bone or for dogs

to chaw on. I ask from myhead amongst the sick

commotion, what couldforce me to fight for things

that are not there. How formmight make a difference

in who might fix their fiststo fight for some real shit.

Neither of the dogs authoredthe thing but invest their teeth

in the thrash of bloodand ripped up brawn

slush and constant Deltarainwater. No one wants it

more than dogs and no one butthe dogs will fight. So we let them

mix the mud and blood, the bonesaliva drenched and fractured

and the fight feels closerto pride than it is to hunger

closer to territory or senioritythan it is the mortality

these bitches go to work in.And what have the teeth been

after all this time? What drovethis one bitch to want

the dry bone badder thanthis other bitch did?

Fuh Da Summa

I'm docked at a lake thatthe people don't attend.

Machete on my hip tomake a devil cough up

blood  dust and light.Hungry for ruins of

an afternoon of anythingwild and willing to stick

its neck through the roofof the leftover lake. I'm

docked at a lake that ain'tgot no river  in a field that

ain't  got no fence  under asun that ain't  never heard

of mercy. I'm docked at theedge of an unfortunate dinner

next to a wet knot of Cotton-mouths  too big to see.

What Deer Season Means to Me

In the house there were always twowhite deep freezers packed prettydecent with red meat. Deer season,the hunters and the deer would satisfyrent in season, by meat if not by cash.It was May, I was fifteen and we smelledfifteen or so throughout the warm insidesof the man-handled school bus, when popssteers quick and...