Suck me down, ol’ Angry River,
Grind my weary bones to goo,
Flay my nightmares from the marrow,
This life fleets like a fleeting arrow.
Burnin’ store-bought firewood
In the middle of the store,
Angry River, I can’t make a good man see the bad
In a woman who won’t make a sad man understand.
Your fish are biting, Angry River,
I can feel them at my throat.
O werewolf moon shining out of season
By your bonfired shores, beyond all reason.
If you can’t tell the truth about a lie
Then never mind what I just said.
Angry River gurgles rent-free in my head,
Leads to every horse, makes them drink.
Float your poisoned garbage out to sea,
Cleanse yourself with thunder rain.
Lift up your flood disaster karma,
Teach us your drowning devil dharma.
(First published, in slightly different form, in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, June 25, 2022 – thanks to Editor Strider Marcus Jones.)