Ol’ Myra Coggins and the Whiskeyjack

Running thru the poplars
ol’ Myra Coggins and the whiskey jack
kicking up leaves
greeting the sunrise.

Laughter, dance
Ol’ Mryra Coggins has found a romance
between the covers
of pulp battered wood
and the Whiskey jack shrills
feathers stilled
by the calmness

crystal meth dreams
toothless grin wears ol’ Myra down
the whiskey jack flies away
the leaves bury
the dead.

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