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Image for the poem Rolling Thunder, In An Unquiet Grave

Rolling Thunder, In An Unquiet Grave

Getting the squeegee off my mind
getting your red dress on, mama
rolling thunder In an unquiet grave
shooting craps in a Silent Butler
going topless flipping ashes
with a fragrance of your bones
and sprocket through your eye
in a flotsam of regurgitation †
floating in tureen pulling out a thumb †
talking to a ghost among the gorse
"Mama may I touch your belly oats
and count the dead embryos"
courting green flies, shotgun,
shooting them as they run
getting your red dress on, mama

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