Alt text:
Cream Soda and the Loch Ness Monster
Three of us marchin up that mountain,
an animalistic pilgrimage, somethin
like ducks in a row up late countin
fish outta water in an empty fountain.
One of us blabberin about cream soda
and the Loch Ness Monster, another
musterin up the half of him that’s tougher
to tell me he’s in love with my sister Dakota.
While my eyes traced a path up the butte,
divination of a serpent winding through
the grey, naked trees, snow overdue,
limbs like lightnin bolts, wilted leaves, scrawny roots.
At the bluff’s peak we found old Elijah’s beard
wrapped around his body, a dried ball
of raccoon-grey fuzz, smellin like ethanol,
floatin in the terribly awesome, thin, quiet air.
And I knew that everything would be alright.
Location: The Driftless Horizon
