Ain't nothin there no much no more
none kinda house or barn, no yard
no stacks of piled-high logs or boards
no eveningwood for dinner fires, just wires
led near to where the phone and volts
holed in and where the chimney bricks
still stand in perfect pre-planned towerin stacks
of red and black, half-burned yet half-intact
and shadin on what ain't no more of use to me,
what be what I don't care for none, the kin
that caused me hell and grief right buried neath
this expired pyre with all their blazin rules and terms
now nestled with the worms, the smoke and heat.