South
There is nothing in humanity a cigarette, a beer, and a clean line on the page cannot cure.
titles to this shit seems trivial
much more effort expended in the name
than the meat of it
i have abandoned enough avenues
to know i am bereft of value
besides what my back can hold
despite the protests of the old war wound
give me pine boughs
an axe to build proper shelter
a stream to clean the blade
of my bootknife
scrape my hull clean
of these barnacles life has stuck me with
leave the overwrought words
the too many lettered devils
as i am a simple man of sorts
and for the love of all the heathen gods
dont interrupt the moon
for she was made out of spite
and we have notes to compare