all of a frozen elephant
put the skull on your mouth
in a dry place
where they died
in a big pile
in our scary basements
as tall as these trees
the cold music in the bluster
a drag off it
a slab cooked up
while we wait
classic country
nothing that slow
and odd clipping
an agenda that does not include
perpetual static when the finger clicks
blessings
you must be in bed or buried
eating oysters in a velvet room
making promises in the third person
baking pies and leaving them to cool
you must be waiting for the bus
