grave goods

grave goods



yah, so we're driving north on interstate
i91 trying to get the fuck
out of massachussetts just as quickly
as we possibly could on our way to
montpelier before the snow really
sets in.
it's only slightly different than
a family reunion. if i'd had my
druthers and a few fewer brothers we'd
be charging towards the sea on the way to
york beach to scavenge for used books but, no.
vermont. coppiced forests of hidden stumps.

we stayed up all night digging seven and
seven pits with the horns of the pretty
girl rolling her eyes bright in the cold sky.
i couldn't believe my luck she seemed so
real and close and she said you want to pop
an oil slick on my belly or what?

sitting like carvings on perhaps the most
stable section of cast iron pipe that
remained in the roofless ruins of saint
roch.
timbers arranged postbellum like termite-
gnawed bones and rusting soil conduits flaked
off unprotected by nonexistent
shock resistance.
if you wanted to, and
believe you me i did, you could take two
fingers and punch through the plumbum and crush
a decayed skull. i felt like eating the
bones and bathing in lizards' blood to make
myself invincible look out for the
linden lime leaves look out for the tempest.