the dear hunter

you have never seen
a more
weathertorn
browbeaten
crowlookin
symptom of a man
emerge from the thicket
like the last click of the hour hand
before the clock strikes midnight
and all the busy housewives
call to their summerstruck children running wild
in the streetlights
like its the last day to celebrate youth
before the corner is turned
the bottom falls out
and some righteous leader
ascends to the platform
with nothing but
four chords and the truth

well he came from the woods
ya the woods
no one knows how long or
why
but he survived
with a bareknuckle baptism
in the wild

i spoke to him once
distant and gruff
he had wandered into town
for tobacco and something he could use
to pry open the windows
of all the complacent crestfallen souls
he passed along the road
like brutus and judas of old
selling their birthright
for a few pieces of gold
an impossible promise
and the prospect of fame
fortune
and the certainty of never being forgotten

and our grizzly grizzly
carried all of this with him
like a whiskey whiskey
shot
forming circles on the bar
but never drunk
because he had to stay sharp
no one survives in the wild
unless they guard their heart

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “the dear hunter

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s