masturbating his killers
two bastards
two gallows birds
someone dead does not wish
to stir the frost
the nude beaten red
tied
to a split-oak fence
his blood's verdigris
soaking the rails
the deceased steaming
in the pale winter sun
he tells
he tells
their trademark
see how fists left their kisses
so casual and sweet
around his cheeks
eyes bruise-lidded
perfectly natural
Sheep in Fog
the denim sky
cotton upon cotton
with a necessary smearing of blood
the dolorous hooves
like a heaviness
of heart
your shotgun resting on top of
mine
all morning
nothing has been left out
you are a clenched fist by my sure flank
you melt beneath my holding
o slow horse
half-cocked
crossing a rock-strewn psyche
the flowing field of my body
the line
that you cross
with your white disappointment
hearing the peal of rusty bells
voices
of others who regard us
with the caught
stillness of fish
trapped in spring puddles
and threaten us thoroughly
like fathers
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