I’m lyin’ out here in the mythic cold
uncovered and disavowed. An’ I ain’t
ever leavin’ alive unless I’m told
by the Spirit, or the Lord or a Saint.
I had me a girl that I loved some more
an’ I swear by God, the devil I did,
a good one now, not a cunt or a whore,
an’ we whelped us a lad, a boy, a kid.
An’ we raised him up to hunt in the wood
with a knife or a spear to slay game with,
an’ a sling to stun a bird when he could—
but he died fetchin’ sweets from a hollow pith.
M’girl what I loved, mourned an’ slit her wrist,
bled the ground, greedy ground, like syrup missed…