oil ya have

frank never used words
such as prelapsarian and his name rung
different than a painting of a ladder
going toward clever
like a bullet full of empty guns with rocks for parents and shoes to feed
going to avenge the only mouth of a river
in which everything flows with dean numbers
and books of judges on which to sit
for a better perch
as they say
in Vlishing under the Arthurian tennis lights of truth
in which moths dally their coins for owls
or a hotshot sharpshooter too drunk to wait
to tell his neighbors that their nightlight offended his sense of being King
of HW 51 and too sober to linger at age 15 past age 51
unlike some Injuns he fot wif willy nilly
in chaps spurs and tobacco juice the way real mean
don't not like two children saying shut up
in four kinds of chilli recipe contests while the babies nap
and are very unaware of the oxen
the saws the blisters the trail Dale built on our birthday
all the way to Glencoe for cowboy hearts
and ten gallon earthquakes hats empty
of oil you have to offer.

is that Oil?