For the rotten words we worship

a wryneck for ronv and James Agee

When our best effort grips no pen, last-falling ink illegible;
When deconstructed grins edge tooth and bone;

When graves or ash scatter truth; When the day
drone mutes; the night downs around;

When the fluted thrust of grass or hands evade autopsy;
When: forget roses; When

the breath bankrupts and

hours lose their turn; Then the trust
surrender; Then the joining of hand to hand;

Then a certain mend or heal will crust over eyes [thank you];
Then the blessed scrawls dove-flutter [please];

Then the bells buttressed peal to kindred;
Then naught but kind decay abrawl in rest.

So our free writ remains the epitaph.

When I was first working on this I posted it by accident. Woefully, unfinished. To paraphrase Bruce Campbell: Well maybe I didn’t follow every last wryneck rule, but basically, yeah, I did. Don’t kill me.