Body’s gallon and a half of blood – he knew
but hadn’t told me yet. Hung right, lurched
over tracks. Said he loved Bartholomew –
flipped, flayed, lugging his skin. The birches
played yes-men, nodded off. Beyond the trees,
a woman tried to teach her dog to sic.
The sound of the jerked choke chain carried
rattle of metal links. Claim dark led our lips
to an undisclosed location. Branches heavy,
fallen on a wire. Some train had an answer
to define absolve, but too far off. See,
we didn’t see the gun-shy stars until much later.
Three gallons, good moon. Good dog, now sit.
He touched his tongue to where my lip was split.