Bigger Britches
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Fill the clouds with pale red
Sow the sky with soot
Show me the starving dead
Fed by the angry gun. Read on…
Fill the clouds with pale red
Sow the sky with soot
Show me the starving dead
Fed by the angry gun. Read on…
Mighty sun are your lessons done?
Puffy clouds are you done speaking?
Blades of grass is there no class
Where I can learn just what I’m feeling? Read on…
He became one with the shallow grave
and the empty heart. The grasping,
claw-picked skull can hear the howls
of a Snowy Owl and the song Read on…
Whatever the meal, He likes it well-done.
A char around the fatty edge,
an unmistakable burn into human flesh.
He’ll take fish if he has to—although
He prefers the smoky ash
of a throatslit lamb Read on…