—But that that brace of brothers pleached a song
Had we voice !
a voice
a braid-reed voice
our good throats restored
( our lockstitch chord )
We would
croodle-keen
( could breathe )
our lodged our
locked unsaids—
Duet our not-thought knowns—
•
That this fear-axe weighs caustic on the walls of the mind.
That it gibbet-looms over us gleam-breathing pendulating all the time fixing to fall.
That a body gets ( a soul gets ) fostered same by beauty sure by fear.
That sure as fangs a threat-pestered sheeny cottonmouth gon’ gape.
That this whip-shape underfoot in pinestraw: more a diamondback turned flinchy.
That the ( leaf-crinching ) coldcoiled copperheads will spring.
That once upon a switchblade spring a man a crudded truck coerced us off.
That the annals they will show how young and green.
That a snappin’ turtle’s jawbeak ( puncts you like a bear-trap ) stays sunk in meat till lightning.
That some are bent to hunt to use a thing or eat or crush it since they can.
That we ourselves would kick-dent and axe-batter any innocent flank of galvanize for noise.
That anyhow trust the skinny scenthounds to backtrack more or less their track to home exactly.
That our mother salt-saves food for the end of the world.