the Budweiser
boys, sure
as shit, they hit
the broad side

of the barn.
Of course,
they swore
there were six

tits on a boar.
Whole hog,
summer’s hot
hodge-podge:

bachelor button,
creeping jenny,
forget-me-not.

dead inroad,
the entrails’ ode.

O Mother Mortis,
you bitter, rigorous

toad, your tunnel
blind as the mole

who went before.
Dr. Onlooker,

what for this wet
wound unloosed?

Wooden Tooth,
Broken Star,

& forget
the hare.