He is an Odd Ass

He is an odd ass
His ass is sod, lass
Massa, he look like he a sass
He singing under sassafras
And we clash and bash til the drip fills our tongues like blood or lies
Nothing, void, empty space in our mouths where words could clash
We choke on grass.
We chew the cud.
Back to the lash.
Back to the mud.
A meadow of freedom.  A moment of love.  A lick of devotion.
	A dive to the swollen
Then we forget again.
So we can rise curling
Like flowers