Out of burlap sacks, out of bearing butter,
\nOut of black bean and wet slate bread,
\nOut of the acids of rage, the candor of tar,
\nOut of creosote, gasoline, drive shafts, wooden dollies,
\nThey Lion grow.<\/p>\n
Out of the gray hills
\nOf industrial barns, out of rain, out of bus ride,
\nWest Virginia to Kiss My Ass, out of buried aunties,
\nMothers hardening like pounded stumps, out of stumps,
\nOut of the bones’ need to sharpen and the muscles’ to stretch,
\nThey Lion grow.<\/p>\n
Earth is eating trees, fence posts,
\nGutted cars, earth is calling in her little ones,
\n“Come home, Come home!” From pig balls,
\nFrom the ferocity of pig driven to holiness,
\nFrom the furred ear and the full jowl come
\nThe repose of the hung belly, from the purpose
\nThey Lion grow.<\/p>\n
From the sweet glues of the trotters
\nCome the sweet kinks of the fist, from the full flower
\nOf the hams the thorax of caves,
\nFrom “Bow Down” come “Rise Up,”
\nCome they Lion from the reeds of shovels,
\nThe grained arm that pulls the hands,
\nThey Lion grow.<\/p>\n
From my five arms and all my hands,
\nFrom all my white sins forgiven, they feed,
\nFrom my car passing under the stars,
\nThey Lion, from my children inherit,
\nFrom the oak turned to a wall, they Lion,
\nFrom they sack and they belly opened
\nAnd all that was hidden burning on the oil-stained earth
\nThey feed they Lion and he comes.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Out of burlap sacks, out of bearing butter, Out of black bean and wet slate bread, Out of the acids of rage, the candor of tar, Out of creosote, gasoline, drive shafts, wooden dollies, They Lion grow. Out of the gray hills Of industrial barns, out of rain, out of bus ride, West Virginia to<\/p>\n