plain food goes in to my mouth
(and then other less poetic things happen)
beer-ruined face
is my face I point out
haircuts chanting”
“rain
more rain
or drought
and  more drought.”
“praying”
“wind
here
whipping at crops
etching bloodless brown wounds”
plain food goes in to my mouth
(and then other less poetic things happen)
debt-wrecked faces
scan a number-jumbled computer
conspiracies and gun-nut sermons
planting flags atop a mountain of  dehydrated dinners
every man says he is ready to shoot guns at the bloody sunset
so far, the well-connected prophets
chew up the saints
shits big money
(and other less,
less poetic
things)
Text and Images © Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved
