The Angry Sun and The Southern Land

The air smells of my sweat and my nicotine. The angry sun is unrelenting in the southern land. I grind my teeth as I impossibly sleep through this goddamned unbearable heat. I dream of the strange beast. The animal is like a rabid wolf with super-real presence. Its numinous words are like that of a lion. Ears are like planks. The spine is protruding from its shallow body. Its human hands dig their dirty fingers into the soil. When it speaks, it speaks of my thorns being my demise. About how it will conquer me.

I tremble.

The air smells of my sweat and my nicotine. The angry sun is unrelenting in the southern land. The true cowboys are weeping on my porch. We read the books on my shelf. We don’t smile, we don’t believe. Strip me of my shirt and shoes. Vent with a bloody fist and book of poems. Love a good girl but only cry for your good men. Don’t you dare fear blood or sweat or your older brother or the insanity of the crimes against me. Remember that only broken heroes and underdogs can bring us hope. Give a firm goddamn handshake. Look a man in the goddamn eye. Don’t forget the poor, cause the rich are void of all beauty. And never turn your back on any son today or tomorrow.

I am no backbreaker.

The air smells of my sweat and my nicotine. The angry sun is unrelenting in the southern land. She wears her black tanktop and her cutup jeans and her black converse shoes. She don’t sweat. She smells strongly of lavender. Her hair shines blue. Her love is desperate. Her grip is nonexistent. She don’t know why I love her. She don’t know why she gotta be. She sings me sweet blues in the summertime and tells me horrible stories in the winter. There’s a story for every line on her body. And its proof that it’s tragic and its proof that it happened. Along with the wolf and the castles, the girl appears in my dreams every night. We fight these creatures together. But were separated. At the end of every good fight we gotta say goodbye.

I sleep alone.

The air smells of my sweat and my nicotine. The angry sun is unrelenting in the southern land. But the air is cool now. The moons up. Everything is pitch black except for the white moon. Sometimes, when the moon is full, I imagine it to be the eye of God himself. Sometimes, many times, its just me, the moon, and the clothes on my back. I take my bat with me whenever I can, cause you never know what demon awaits me. I know I’m a wanted man. But I fear no evil, for God is with me. I fear the Lord. God knows I beg him for mercy, for she knows I need to. God knows I sing him sweet songs under moonlight. If I ever had a lover I had Christ. God knows I sing with whatever I got, to raise an upbeat sound amidst the rampant pain and paranoia. God knows I don’t just sing my song for me, I sing it for her and the real cowboys. I got this one life to sing me song. Violence may ensue, bad men may curse us, and treasures may be lost. But we got what we got. Hallelujah.

I know me song.