Cold bourbon/white cigarettes, a new Kentucky dawning. The Baptists in the hills in the east put on a dress of mourning, singing old songs on white gravel yards, saying nothing. New shoes trample old shards. Sun and brambles . . . a wasp in the church-house hovers on old songs. The children grow restless; the clergy turns.
Hot bourbon/black cigarettes, the hills grown cold. Do hands reach through soil -- a reunion deferred? Names etched in granite, a vignette in between: a mansion of tin behind its king and queen.
WE TAKE SOLACE IN THE FEAR OF THE LAMB! WE FEED ON THE ICHOR OF THE MESSENGERS! WE WEAR OUR SORROW ON OUR FACES! WE SEEK LEVITY! THE SPIRIT IS LOOKING FOR SILENCE, THE FLESH, LONGEVITY!