State Parks

Had a funny dream and my early meeting at work got cancelled, here you are

This is Marlboro Country, rogue
Spirits in the yard country,
Menthols over state lines country,
Piracy for the simple
Pleasure of smoke country.

Thrift jeans once worn by the mother
Of someone who wanted more than the
Moss on the rocks and the
Cicadas that get more intimate than
She could have dreamed.

Spit on the street outside the L off Myrtle-Wyckoff and
Pretend like the reek, and
The uproar and,
The possibility to get dragged to a drink isn’t why you’re here.

She’ll cowboy camp and compost,
Eat bark off the husk with water from the stream to
Wash it down, letting the
Little parasites have the
Warm meal of her insides, with misplaced faith that
Carhartt charlatans will hold public office one of these days.

Put a bullet in the back of the
Head of a moose, drown a
Buffalo in boiling water, kill a
State park, set a forest on
Fire, this is Marlboro Country,
Rogue Spirits in the wicker dry yard country,
Menthols to ease it all country,
Piracy for the
Simple pleasure of smoke country