Poem for Thursday, March 4, 2010

The Hill Country

basking in a hot tub at four a.m.
w/ herbal contemplation

(the following might come to mind:)

equilibrium fleeing when you step
out into the icebox, reaching for a
towel while your nipples twist

coyotes screaming like schoolgirls
over vampires, drooling over rabbit
blood at their raucous ritual

the lonely, determined man jogging
up the suburban street, possibly
running from the coyotes

this is the hill country
I think to myself

with its ozark woods
church steeples poking the sky
low-grade Oklahoma beer

we then submerge our
faces in 110-degree water
try to outlast each other &
I come up third

to the stench of splattered
skunk, knowing I am
alive