ACK!!'s Journal: Just another Southern dream of escape

A lowcountry boil sits
in the pot and the smell
of the crawfish and
the seasonings burn
your nose and the
cornbread rises
in endless ovens
across the reach of
your mind and the biscuits
call for the buttermilk
and the BBQ sauce has
the tang of vinegar
and broken dreams
of sharecropper hopes
out here on the edge
of the collard greens
and sweet corn with
the hog's head still bobbing
in the brunswick stew
here in the pine tree
wastelands and the
lovely pastel Charleston
streets houses float
out there like the
delusions made as the
rain tinkles down endless
on top of the tin roofs of
Mississippi Mud Pie dreams
Where is my shotgun shack gone?
Where are the bluegrass delta-blues
elation of getting out of the
dreamy hell of the oppresive
heat of the pit of the place
that I left so long ago.