Trick of the Trade

Trick of the Trade


My cups are 8
paces away
from the
table

Cherokee saguaro,
the label,
and full
of
wine.

I use my
feathers
for my
Den coup,

Aheya,
let those
jealous poets
stew,

so Ouroboros
are they,
chewing their
own.

Feathers notched
on the left
drip poetic
sweat,
tears,
and
blood.

Feathers notched
on the right,
the verb is
full of
mud.

Ahoopee Ahoopee,
OH DAMN!

The great
steamboat of
wind is
coming to
knock the
verb off
the
branch.

No longer
a need
to be
on the
front
page.

A circle
of fire,
A brand
new box
of
matches.



2006, Sage Sweetwater