Holly Throsby Under The Town
Without a sound
My old hound sleeps in the ground
Under the house
Under the town
An arrow is loud
Shivered and stuck in the mouth
And my heart’s an apple – red, round – and you shot it out!
You shot it out!
And what do the shot dream about?
A millpond?
A stillborn?
A house?
Where everything sings out?
