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Wednesday, October 10, 2007

The Underside Lodge

The velvet mirror lodge bell dinged

Seven & twenty times

Twas occasion for the fabled hunter

To arise from his catered dine

And bugle siren to an Elk

Call him in from the big vine

“Come here my large bovine friend,

I’ve paid, so that you are all mine”

He cornered the conditioned Elk

Like fish in a barrel

Then once shot in gut

Taxied antlers to tailor

Hired hands dug in stink work

For tiny sausage pay

Munched deep in spud cellars

Beneath light of day

The gut piles sweet stink

Pulled in Griz from stones yellow

Men caught in between

Were not friendly fellers

And ghoulish Monsters of the id

Were pasted to front editorial page

Then deliver’d to velvet mirror holder

Lodg’d by serpent front door sage

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