ABRAHAM SMITH
I AM GOING TO REFERENCE RELIGION AND GODS
1800’s north wisconsin leave it to me
to work ollie fink into the leaven he was
an ass had eyes like blood-fat
wood ticks wrestled from the worst dog
old snuff smeared for a beard and a stench like trash
very famous for killing wolves
killed them clean from two counties both rusk and taylor
a lot of feed sack tied off puppy howling that’s saying something
he poisoned them he kept the powder at home he was a
bachelor so there was nothing stopping him
he shook bear flesh full of poison and he laid in the bushes
during the interminable coughing and he
dragged them warm
back home at dark
with the northern lights never crass on high
and there it was he tied
eight ten beautiful wolves in the glory of middle life
by their necks by the light of the moon
up to wire
little pistol shit of a cuss of a man
leaning on his shit shack
next to ten beautiful songwriters
all by the throats
promise you if I had been the moon
snapping milk bleach pictures I would’ve
I wood haft said oll old pal I’d like to take a second
one of you with my rifle and lowering
my rifle into one crater or other and cocking it touched
the trigger to gravity bang made his bangs gravy
I would have leveled him bang fuck the stories
of old world wolves stealing babies that’s bull and
ollie was too the old creek low and testy
the new dawn cool sky worn and wormy
awfully stinky lumbermen fat wrists swinging
norwegian ditties winging fat wrist lard asses leveling the
white pines out of there
he clouded hearing them sawyers singing
not soothing for they grated on the ache he already had he felt
pain this is ollie follow me here ollie in piebald britches
piebald with bear greases suspenders built of wolf tongues
stripped stamped knocked the fool howl out of them getting
harder to keep his oily self up he slept in suspenders witch wart
wolf plums he tried to rest strapped into calcified moon rungs
his tooth hurt good so reached
for pain kill powder took instead
gaffed
he took the wolf poison into his hands a pair of
rough and ready hands in the wolf urine light of
halfdawn with norwegian lard asses already singing
his two bulky never pray snakehead hands that shined a little
like something fresh varnished or yanked from water or pried from
birthing matter
ollie drank the shit down with a draw of rusty creek water in the half
life of
dawn with lumberjacks singing now plaintive now joyful birds writing one
sun like a drunk on a stump with nothing but unkindness left to churn
old oll performed a little work I think he pulled a weed out from
the ground he ollie fink solo lobo killer took it in his head to lay down
tried to then fell by
his plank board bed they found him cold and down
old tough ass fink
some there were who claimed it was his buttons they were
always poison spiders somewhere a lone baby
wolf applauds gangbusters performs a lewd jig in the dust ollie
used to spit
only things
asked us
that we don’t mind the descent and lengthen the harness some