Duster Nits. Cobble me a pair. I told him.
Them three come as close to sunk as three
Could come in a boat that size. I told him
To leave you out of this, but so I see
He ain’t done what I told him. Duster’s God.
Duster’s God and the Nits his Holy Ghost
And the pair of them come up with what I know
We’re waiting for it. Now the rabble says
To wait on longer than I’d have it, so
I put some time as tinker out in back
And cobbled me a pair. And what I come with
Out the back end yesterday is this:
First, off with my head. Them scary Gits
Kin fight the ghosts off, so I brought them on
And give them rations twice a day and speeches
Ever most twice as often in the mornings.
The Gits bring back my old nostalgias. God,
Was I a horse! And Duster had my back
And plied me a pair of shoes had just the knack
For split-side gallops! God, was I the horse!


Such and such. And mornings like this. The river.
The mist come off it that the rabble takes
Back to their houses, fixes up a dream
And thinks the day on what I’d take an hour
To get disposed of. Frogs and skunks and fish:
Them fuckers take the days. Skinning them back
Or siding out the entrails. Guts and strings.
There’s no one takes a week like I’ve done sloshing
River mud up a snake to see which nights
The Gits, the ghosts, the whole hog pandemonium
Are thinking for doing Duster in. I tell him
And sit back waiting. Rabble gets their nights
And mist and moonlight. Singing in a tub.


And fooling rocks. A pelican. Cool nights.
But sometimes I get lyrical. The shiners
I take won’t let me load up every often
Much as I’d like. And Sundays, shit. But Fridays:
Rabble at bars or sofa sunk or praying.
Some of them pray all morning, come up nights
To lay out traps for Nits and me and Duster.
Pick me a trap and wait till something comes
Then squall it and wring it. Duster’s quieter.
Friday a pair of girls lit after us
And got us cornered and fendered off the quick
I’d saved for later. But Nits come in and waves
And lights the shadows up and ghosts them good.
So they go back hosannas. Rabblewise.


Fucker and bits. Three in a pool. Decided.
Nothing better than leaving them a mess.
The grackles call me up a storm and lordy
The lord and lord of all that come undone.
Here's saying the cobbles from the other day
Won’t keep me up this morning. So I split
Myself round sideways and then backways under
And come up round where I been listening for
The Duster. And the Holy Ghost. The Nits.
Decided yesterday to pray a storm
Up over the town and watch it on the river.
But got it started and paddled out and sunk—
I started sinking. And called it off. The rabble
Pray them a pantry full of ghetti-o’s
And wines and spirits. Duster’s got that covered.
I pray the weather up and down and never
Just what they look for. So I get my kicks
And something extra. And a pile of rain.