I liked to live in the oldkind of house.Plenty of goodcracks in the floor.Finish your corn bread.Sweep the crumbsthrough the cracks.Under the old kind of housechickens would get emfast as they'd fall.
CLEAR WATERCaptain Til Lesterkicked some engineering ass.Two million gallonsof fire reservoir. Looked likea Roman coliseum.Circles in circles.Each ring deeper toward middle.I liked to drown there.Buck cut a doublegainer once from the high dive.Sliced the still blue glassof fourteen feet like a longslender splinter into skin.
SOME IN PIECESIn World War Twothe oldestof my unclespicked updead bodiesdead weightsome in piecesand threw themonto the bedsof trucks.His work spreadfar as he could see.When he camehome he pouredsalted peanutsinto a Co-Colaand preparedfor lifewith folkswho couldnever knowsome thingsas longas they lived
HOUSE PARTYA clawhammer talks anda fiddle trills June Bugmusic. Feet become instruments.SoldiersJoy. Forked Deer.Autho's feet slip and glideacross saw dusted boards, his jumpso slightyou can't see himcarry melody ontoes. The bow draws a sad note fromfiddlestrings and Eslieputs a plate on Autho'ssnowy head. His feet stroke pine boards.His headscarcely moves. Solesof his shoes pumice thefloorboards under his feet as ifboards werestrings that vibratetone and rhythm underthe dexterous weight of fingertips.Darnell Arnoult