like Gwen in wild weed,

Ewart blows westward,

his ax pointed square

south; he reinvents the

compass, spits it from

his mouth; downbeat

and long tones mixing

in & out of new harmony


there are those who’d

say the prairie dreams

us perhaps


Duriel’s laughter

strikes out across that

sound like some boy a-

mong the Dan    like

some Dan Diss caught

between the blood &

the gospel,


I am dis-

solved in their songs






Photo by Johnnie Walker