Sticking Out

I'm thinking about things, but not well enough to write about them. Hopefully my head will soon clear and allow some real discourse. Until then...

Head Hunters

Every night we look for fresh heads.

Ripe ones come off the stalk
like eager sprouts & roll along or stop
depending on excess neck.

We call floppy eared heads Elmers.

They get punched & kicked a lot.
Some guys bash em with sledges to see
how far the eyes'll pop. The record's 3 foot 3.

I like cold misty nights

when I drop my clothes
& carry a woman’s head
across a farm's sacred ground.

Being old vets of the block,

the chickens keep their necks
close to the roost. Their tight gullets
swallow hard beneath the ax’s song.

But handsome heads turn up everywhere.

You can fill a football stadium with em.
I wish it were better sport to find so many.
Every night we look for fresh ones.