Title: The man with seven wives
by Rich from Cheshire | in writing, poetry
Deep in Mountain caves
The cannibal calls his name
A village stands down the hill
Where Dewey came to play
Joe was grey and old
Your eyes were blue and alive
Our hearts filled with water in spring
When Pa shot the man with seven wives
In the corner of the dark
Her hair was braided brown
The moon was shot and wounded there
Where his hands and feet were bound
Charlie sang us little songs
Cash sung us songs with knives
We walked down to the wind swept trees
When Pa shot the man with seven wives
Ma and Joe went through the heat
Where the village met the town
Her hand was soft and longer now
I'm your singing sunset clown
White paint clawed the barn walls
I'd two queens and three fives
Your skin was ripe pink plum to touch
When Pa shot the man with seven wives
His voice rang 'Dewey' then
His throat was coiled in blood
Her eyes were wet and grey thereon
Naked as she stood
Shoes are old and battered
The cat has eighteen lives
Your thighs were cradling my rain soaked head
When Pa shot the man with seven wives
Gothic folklore.
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