I'll read three or four or more.
Here's one I wrote that I haven't really read much
because I think it's not done.
But I think there are some good things in it.
It's called Butte Montana For No One You Would Know.
And Butte is the big copper mining place in Montana.
And it used to be called the richest hole on Earth
and then it was the second richest hole on Earth.
And now I don't know what it is, but it's certainly not
very rich anymore.
It's always the same, that rough pit across your face,
truck's grinding up and down the second richest hole on Earth.
That slow gin that kept you going until you really left.
Years before, your mother mourned by a grave remote
is ash, bleak as the creek that flows through Beaver flats
In Eagle dreams you wish you never had.
It was your father, my father who left us late
that March, our youth around his neck,
gody funeral ties we were in rain not deer enough.
Later we faced each other down.
You always won I think.
If winning is so much meat, if shadows
count as points against my eyes, I should say you lost.
We called you copper king down there in that second greatest
hole on Earth but never in this crisis ridden world to me.
Sleepy, those great wings beating in your dreams
never quite belong to you.
They were the prize, so you killed yourself,
and I am blessed, left with life and words that mean exactly
lost.