COAL MINER'S OUGHTA
I was walking the Black Creek leading to the mine
and three guys before me were drunk off their gourd,
walking crookedly and tripping on rocks in the water.
Thinking of nothing much but the plenitude of fossils,
I bent down to touch the back of the swan. It didn't
move a stitch. The sunlight was more than I wanted.
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Over at the mine-shaft entryway, the docket master was
marking the hours for pay. He said there were two carts
of diggers down there already, a full-man crew, and they
were due back up in twenty minutes. Did I want to be
cut in on this final card-play while they waited? I said no.
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I've never liked playing cards, never played them actually.
It always seems so useless and all - the rank and file stupidity
of the ranking of men by their stations in life. Jack King Joker.
don't know what it means : Rimbaud, Hart Crane, or Ferlinghetti,
take your pick and be gone along your way. Those guys down
in the mine, I'd swear they were all the same. Stupid Welsh
Christian souls; believing in shovels and Mary.
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When I die I want to be upheld in some holy court of saving grace,
just enough, you see, not too upheld; just speak nice of me.
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