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     Wounded dark congealed night

                                            Thick tissue black

    Scabbed with fight

    Up from the South

    Borne howling up

    Leg ripped, white eyed

    Out-alpha-ed shit-scared

    Flat-eared damage dog,



    I bid you rip my heart

    I am the abuser

    And the lover both,

    Agape in horror

    Yet drawn to forge

    That silent secrecy,

    That slow Faulkner

    Destiny, a burial grown

    Monstrous with damnation

    And a wily urge to murder.


    From the weak I wring


    And gasoline.


    This is American,

    This partaking of harm

    And plates of flesh

    And this slow dessert

    Of shame and love.

    What a peptic rhapsody

    My murders have been,


    Or was it banjo twangs

    Of guilt beneath the guise of


    Touching lightly death’s face

    My own, others, the helpless

    Animals who did not outlive

    My self-absorbed misery;

    And yet I did not suffer--

    I lived righteous as any gas-guzzler

    Of the North who says he is no



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