Witt,
Sorry. Life is happening. Been trying to put out fires.
I think what I cut and pasted below is solid. I really enjoyed the lines I boldfaced. The last two lines of each stanza are strong summations. Good stuff.
As a matter of current trends, it might be wise to loose the capitals of the first word of each line, unless they are the beginning of a sentence. For some reason or another, it seems to indicate that one knows how to write modern poetry.
Otherwise the contradictions both in imagery and sound between S1 and S2 are working for me. But then I'm not ty the best judge of what will work for others.
I'd submit it, but always remain satisfied with it for its own sake, regardless of how it is "judged."
Keep writing,
Bill
Don't lay me in this hard clay
Where mad raccoons lurk in sunshine
And vultures wait for ripped leavings
Of the fox who sits in the yard eyeing the cat,
Where deer harvest my beans and sow their ticks.
This bull tallow is like concrete when it's dry.
I'll be trapped forever in that vengeful grave,
A place where even bacteria can't breed.
Flop me in the pluff mud to undulate
with cordgrass and laugh with the gulls.
I'll giggle as shrimp nibble my toes,
Sidle beside blue crabs,
And synchronize with mummichogs
While moon snails cover my eyes.
Let me languish in the low country salt marsh
To drift away with the tide.
