I came here to kill the folk
singer with the mashed potato
face; if the wind could un-deliver
each letter penned that redolent spring,     
I’d not have to employ the inevitable
weaponry of acoustic wire; nor see
him under the shrubbery, reveling in
the mystery of picnics, demanding

answers, using Blake to coyly prod,
oh, those who restrain desire,
do so because theirs is weak enough
to be restrained. I spit tangerine
pits, bullets of featherless pulp, &
hear the moistened song-notes
that call from woolly pockets &
his snowy-snow journeys,
always speaking of dead characters
hanging like vertebrae in the mission.

__

"Lumberjacks" sprung from reading "The Voice of the Devil", The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake.

"Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained; and the restrainer or reason usurps its place & governs the unwilling."