The exodus,
of an obese flock
from
Baptist churches
dressed as Johnny Cash
live at Folsom,
steel
corroded in nature
as they lay dying on Old Bryan Drive
east of
Indiana
red cometh the day
rusted and ancient,
forgotten and forged American steel,
past lives and
generations liquefied in dirt
blackened hands caress
the castrated tongues
as they
hang from the sky
bent
willed trees spurring into me
plastic burrows in the ground
soaring forth domestication,
vampire killer stakes
wooden Jesus
coagulated blood on
lottery tickets and
cans of disease as they
ride the rails
into
the crimson hills
of the unknown past,
the orange paste
of the future
the
rain pellets rest under shade
that afternoon,
dropping bombs of hate.
Brett Stout
Ijagun Poetry Journal 