Neither did her brethren believe in her, buried down at Caney Head Methodist Church. Money to the grave or so they say, people still digging the dirt the clay. Lawyer politician teacher mid-wife, seer fortune teller psychic light. What did you see at the bottom of the well? Mr. John Wallace’s secret hell.

I see it like Mahaley Lancaster. I feel it like the animals. Amanda Mayhaley Lancaster.

How can you know what to say to me? The devil is waiting for your sympathy. Cry me a river, but don’t you bleed. The nails in your coffin, the ticks in seed. Feather the season souls in clay, forty-three degrees since yesterday. Foot from a chicken coyote fur, run the well water through lavender. Seasoned, seasoned sole coyote.

I see it like Mahaley Lancaster. I feel it like the animals. Amanda Mayhaley Lancaster.

Million-Dollar midway at the county fair, Tony Joe White on the eight-track player. Candy coated apples the Golden Knights, Gordon’s kicked it into overdrive. How can you know these things to be true? Conjure a picture with railroad shoes. Lay me down my soul to take, seems like it was only yesterday. Seasoned, seasoned sole coyote.

I see it like Mahaley Lancaster. I feel it like the animals. Amanda Mayhaley Lancaster.