Shaking in the Dust

500 acres of land, 

500 acres, by his word, 

But all of it burnt, 

Into stone. 

From the road you can see the house, 

Twenty miles away, 

You can see the two storey package, 

Wrapped up in brown paper, 

Like a piece of old meat. 

I lick the wounds on my knuckles, 

And enjoy the sting as it shakes, 

My frame from head to waist, 

Then on down to my knees, 

And they buckle, 

And I’m brought on down, 

Low, to the bottomest. 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s