dawn

mmmh
discarded lunch i am
lest there be hawks picking at my ribs
in some gutter world out there

im not this
im nit picking the conception of the human corpse
along with being sick to death of invocations of the spirit
both of which got along amply
with the American military

oh coo noise
old dove with black pepper

living archaic like a portrait of 15th century peasentry
humble and humiliated
with a cast iron bowl beaten by a blacksmith
who buggered his children and horse
since smelting low gravity mercury
proved him
to be the town's leading apothecary.

but i got this medicine too
like heals like
is all i have to suggest
maybe some truffles
for a bit of a blade
stuck ringing by the temple
and edible flowering herbs
for those chaotic colors pressed
to your old slave collar
now hung up by the lamppost
with your old smithed shackles.

got some news for the town crier today
that all those do-gooders out there
are Macheavellian bureaucrats
who chose
their victims with rounded gold
instead of with a keep's broadsword raised to signify
a path
to that afterlife

already superstitious
about beautiful tangles and collections
like old jars filled with sand
and crackling lodestone
kept behind fireplace brick.

you could
drive to see me one day
on the back of a caravan
just don't bring a friar
or a toss from a basket of nettles,
glowing heliotrope.