Practical Hermeneutics

Practical Hermeneutics

Do you wonder how long this banged-up boy from some dark bite of Kansas can keep doing this shit? See how easy it feels. How easy to say that he has to
stop doing this? Get better at something.

Did you hear him telegraphed along the buffalo roots in your backyard? Is that what brings you here, Did you dial the gloam loudspeakered across the pastures and feedlots between this place and Topeka?

Let's see how this one plays out. I know you want to. Our boy Wendell is getting himself ripped like a gravel roadbed by a stomp-rocket bull hauler with a cowbell cock and his favorite Blues for Allah CD.

Is this what brings you? Are you along this northern azimuth by accident?
How many sandburrs, cockleburrs, and creep-stickers are
finding each other in the double folds of your socks? Will these roots broadcast that far back?

Do you see? He's getting ridden like a setter on point,
struck like wheatstraw in the clevis of a plow, planted like tulip bulbs. Pay attention to
steel-toed boots. Notice the slip clay lugged deep in the soles and the careful grease along the tops.

Can you see the crowns of tiny gold stars
splash-inked along the slender calves? Do these signs and wonders get in your nails like an imperfect mold? Embargoed in the taut skin below your tender belly?

Were you hoping for a sweet smelling bible-baptist farmboy in a pressed down shirt? Looking for something more than Wendell jacking rough trade in the stalls?
Did you find something else on this tiny highway? Find
anything to staighten the wayward air?

Do you hear the dense waves freshen the bluestems and drop seed behind the reststop?

How long have you been waiting for pleasure to chant down a day instead of redded rain?