Poem - Rework: To the Place

you go to the place
in hip of the narrow valley

not a lamb to the slaughter
nor fools gold rambling

if you go look for the drunk
who slept in the barn

he left incidentals
rotted with bird droppings

you're looking

you're looking
look at you looking

he could be in needles
he could be in a library

he could be crossing a stream
he could be the river

or not place buildings streets
dark windows shine

hell laughing medicated
high arrested shot stabbed

own burned lost forgotten to all
except to your own eyes

that now see above tree branches
in the form of a mute 'X'

*

you feel an apple
in your barn jacket

you take it out and eat it

----

Bennett Valley