Poem Written with Twenty-Seven and One-Half Tooth
The confidence of people in this town
(As given by your hand)
Is more than man can bear:
Thick brambles out by back,
Hollow heroes sweating
Words that can swallow madneſs.
In fall she gives me slip, as her
Paramour takes me to rooms,
Perfectly silent, shows me naught.
What can I say? Thin veneer of
Tongue gives me shorthand for passion.
Boards are on my side,
Ergo fence is mine. Out by woodpile,
Cochlear cache, bad water
Feeds bush and small cross.
Almost by tracks, I build roughshod
Simulacrum of fence, sing
Of old dust sucker's plight,
Down another. At each turn,
Driver leaves small, red stigmata.
Wood is wet; planks are rotten.
Battery dies. Screw does not turn,
Then these too run out.
Fat Bootsman admits to me,
"A dark, hopeful sun shines within,"
Then goes back, mends dream-nets,
Tells me, "buy bulbs that outlast love,"
Buries all in moist sod.