Mais, listen cher, when de cool breeze blow,An' de river's runnin' kinda slow, Dat's de time, I tell you wit' a grin, When deoyster squeezin' fun begin!Put down dat fricassee, ya hear? Grab dat ice chest full o' beer!...

...life is a field of wheat gathered, as the seeds remember mother earth, by hands that understand each stalk,a memory bound in sheaves, but not for the scythe's,chinny chin chin.

The microwave's persistent hum merged with the dripping condensation on its window, a sticky rhythm against the swamp's nocturnal chorus. Inside my skull, boiled crawdads danced on frayed wires stretched taut, their pincers clicking like manic metronomes—soft promises of...