Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Four Words and Backwoods

The moan among the willow jungles
As the wail of a distant harmonica
Emanates from a far off woods cabin

Flats and draws
Hollers and hilltops
Occupied dilapidations
Tucked in the creases and folds

Riversides and floodplains
The first to wash away
As words left unspoken
Avoided and buried in the silt

Low sloped roofs and railroad trestles
Amongst the drooping jungles
Fringed with bobcat trails
That lead in and never out

Old fenceposts in the shade
Stand upright amongst the brambles
As the oaks lean and taunt

Fenced out and frowned upon
While the elderberries sweat and swell
Vines laced with thorns
To stick in your sides

Cattle shoots and water troughs
The green algae that coughs and spits
Which oak tree can I run around
If that old bull comes a chargin'

Thoughts that come quick
At a rustling in the bushes

Pressure like the tension
Lying under the surface
That bubbles to show it self occasionally

Persevere and survive
'Till death's boney hand grips in the night
Filled with heat vapors in the stillness

Fix it 'till it can't
Be fixed no more

Bearings worn and seals gone
Belts disintegrate like old bones
As only iron and rust remain
Relaxing now weary and tired

Visions and soundings of riffs yet unheard
From the pedal steel of the water wheel
And the bow strings long since stretched
Pushed to the brink

Land of parched corn and stews
And meat that falls from the bone
Fresh cracked bread
In the sunlight through the window

Textures and flavors
Both sweet and savory
Stuck in my craw
Like the wild grape that drapes
All in the exuberance of sunsets

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